VETERAN  AND 

His  PIPE 


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THE  VETEEAN 


AND  HIS  PIPE 


BY 

ALBION    W.     TOURGEE 

Author  of  "A  Fool's  Errand,"  Etc. 


CHICAGO,  NEW  YORK,  SAN  FRANCISCO: 

BELFORD,    CLARKE    &    CO, 

1888. 


COPYRIGHT, 
WM.  PENN  NIXON, 

1885. 
All  rights  reserved. 


4J&K 


OS 


DOWJPiATTQr, 


Donohue  &  Henneberry,  Printers  and  Finders,  Chicago. 


~£ 


PEEFAOE. 


COMRADE: 

If  you  have  succeeded  in  forgetting  the  impulse  that 
made  you,  for  a  time  at  least,  a  hero,  and  regarding  your 
wounds  as  "poor  dumb  mouths"  that  testify  of  personal 
peril,  rather  than  the  immortal  cause  in  which  they  were 
won,  you  can  hardly  feel  surprise  that  the  veteran  is 
remembered  chiefly  as  a  pensioner ;  heroism  regarded  only 
as  a  claim  to  public  charity,  and  "the  soldier  vote"  con 
sidered  a  political  commodity,  to  be  purchased  with  the 
promise  of  public  plunder. 

THE  AUTHOR. 

APRIL  14,  1886. 


M618514 


PREFACE  TO  SECOND  EDITION. 


The  demand  for  a  second  edition  of  this  work  allows  no  time 
for  the  correction  of  mere  verbal  errors.  The  essays  herein  con 
tained  were  written  week  by  week  during  the  year  1885,  their  char 
acter  being  determined  by  contemporaneous  events.  In  a  cursory 
review  the  author  finds  no  reason  to  desire  any  substantial  change. 
The  convictions  expressed  in  these  pages  have  only  been  emphasized 
by  subsequent  events.  Pascal  Raines  and  Rans  Whiting  are  types 
of  the  healthiest  sentiment  of  the  two  great  elements  of  yesterday. 
The  sacrifice  and  heroism  of  the  days  of  strife  will  have  been  worse 
than  vain  unless  they  shall  teach  wisdom,  devotion  to  the  right,  an 
exalted  sense  of  patriotic  duty,  and  a  righteous  scorn  of  subterfuge, 
evasion  and  pretense  in  the  direction  of  public  affairs. 

Whatever  may  be  the  truth  in  regard  to  material  things,  civili 
zation  is  undoubtedly  a  revolution.  Liberty  is  a  plant  whose  petals 
open  very  slowly  and  whose  perfect  bloom  the  world  has  not  yet 
seen.  God  gives  us  yesterday  that  we  may  make  to-morrow  better. 
The  soldier  who  fought  for  "  Freedom  and  the  Right  "  did  only  his 
duty.  He  deserves  no  more  credit  than  he  who  serves  the  country 
with  like  aspiration  to-day.  It  is  as  an  example  of  patriotic  devotion, 
and  not  as  a  mere  survivor  of  perilous  iinaes,  that  he  deserves  to  be 
remembered.  What  he  cfo'dmay  very  well  be  forgotten.  Why  he  did 
it  is  the  priceless  legacy  he  left  for  the  betterment  of  to-morrow. 
Whenever  the  present  fails  to  rise  to  the  level  of  the  past  in  patriotic 
aspiration,  the  future  is  in  peril.  Civil  war  in  a  republic  is  always 
the  result  of  a  lesson  of  patriotic  purpose.  The  patriotism  which 
saved  the  Union,  if  manifested  before  the  outbreak  of  hostilities, 
would  have  made  rebellion  impossible.  The  apathy  and  indecision 
of  the  North,  not  less  than  the  arrogance  and  aggressiveness  of  the 
South,  were  responsible  for  the  bloody  consequences.  This  is  the 
lesson  the  story  of  yesterday's  achievements  should  teach  to  every 
one  of  the  controllers  of  to-morrow's  destiny.  The  pages  that  lol- 
low  were  written  simply  to  enforce  this  thought. 

THE  AUTHOR. 
Mayville,  N.  Y. 


INDEX   OF   TITLES. 


A  DOUBLE  ANNIVERSARY 19 

' '  FREEDOM  AND  THE  RIGHT  " 21 

HIGH  WATER  MARK , ,  82 

"  THE  PRESIDENT  VISITS  GETTYSBURG  " 45 

OUR  MAY  DAYS 58 

"  MEMORIAL  "  (?)  DAY  70 

' '  ALAS,  SWEET  CHARITY  " 82 

PURITAN  OR  CAVALIER 95 

' '  PEACE  IN  THE  CLOVER-SCENTED  AIR  " 108 

"  THE  DAY  WE  CELEBRATE  ! " 123 

THE  HARMONY  OF  DISAGREEMENT 137 

"  THE  HURT  Is  IN  THE  HEART  " 150 

TYPES  AND  LANDMARKS 162 

"  WITH  DRUM-BEAT  AND  HEART-BEAT  " 172 

THE  REFLECTED  LIGHT  OF  FAME 188 

THE  MOUNT  OF  TRANSFIGURATION 202 

HYMNS  OF  THE  AGES 21 2 

SONGS  OF  Two  PEOPLES 224 

THE  CLIMAX  OF  DEVOTION 234 

JOINED  OR  PARTED? 248 

AUTUMN  REVERIES.  . .  261 


THE  VETERAN  AND  HIS  PIPE, 


A  DOUBLE  AKNIYEKSAKY. 

APRIL  14,  1861 — THE  SURRENDER  OF  FORT  SUMTER — 
APRIL  14,  1865 — THE  ASSASSINATION  OF  ABRAHAM 
LINCOLN. 

IT  is  a  strangely  eventful  day,  Blower, — the  anniver 
sary  of  death  and  life.  Many,  perhaps  the  great 
majority  of  those  who  think  to  note  its  recurrence, 
count  it  perchance  the  saddest  of  all  those  land-marks 
by  which  our  national  growth  is  marked,  or  individual 
achievement  commemorated.  But  we  will  celebrate  it, 
Blower,  as  a  feast  of  thanksgiving  and  a  festival  of 
rejoicing.  Twenty-four  years  ago  to-day  the  nation 
awoke  to  the  new  life  of  its  most  glorious  epoch.  The 
blow  had  fallen  on  the  evening  of  the  previous  day. 
At  midnight  tolling  bells  began  its  proclamation  to  a 
wondering  people.  With  the  dawning  came  fuller 
knowledge  of  the  thing  we  feared.  The  echoes  of  the 
guns  of  Moultrie  were  yet  sounding  the  knell  of  peace 
over  our  broad  land.  The  sunshine  of  the  sabbath 
morning  looked  down  on  strangely  contrasted  scenes. 
The  South  was  hoarse  with  exultant  shouting.  The 
emblems  of  rejoicing  floated  there  from  every  hilltop. 

7 


8  THE   VETERAN  AND   HIS   PIPE. 

The  cannon's  sulphurous  breath  and  the  bonfire's 
smoldering  embers  told  of  the  night's  wild  jubilee  of 
exultation.  The  church  bells  pealed  out  joyfully.  The 
matin  hymns  were  songs  of  victory.  Miriam's  exult 
ant  chant  echoed  from  thousands  of  lips  that  smiled 
with  the  joy  of  accomplished  success  and  anticipated 
triumph.  Thanksgiving  was  the  theme  of  every  pulpit. 
The  light  of  conquest  was  in  every  eye,  the  joy  of  vic 
tory  in  every  heart. 

Where  the  nation's  power  was  still  supreme,  and  her 
glory  esteemed  above  section  and  self,  the  scene  was 
widely  different.  How  well  we  remember  it  to-day, 
Blower.  The  chill,  gray  sunshine  looked  on  clouded 
brows !  Eyes  were  dull  with  weeping,  or  red  with  sul 
len  rage !  Men  wore  grave  faces  and  were  strangely 
silent !  Women's  cheeks  were  pallid,  and  they  wept 
stealthily !  The  sabbath  bells  sounded  full  of  solemn 
foreboding  as  they  called  a  stricken  people  to  the  house 
of  prayer.  The  sanctuaries  overflowed  with  worship 
ers  !  The  nation  bowed  before  its  God,  and  prayed 
that  the  blood-red  cup  might  pass  its  lips,  or  grace  be 
given  to  bear  its  woe!  The  Merciful  heard  and 
answered!  The  nation  drank  of  the  red  wine  of 
slaughter;  but  a  richer,  stronger  life  than  she  had 
ever  known  before  swept  through  her  veins ! 

Twenty  years  ago  to-day  another  scene  in  the  great 
tragedy  of  our  national  life  was  enacted.  On  that  day 
the  stroke  was  given  which  transformed  an  exultant 
nation  into  a  weeping,  grief-stricken  people.  The 
grandest  life  which  has  yet  sprung  from  the  loins  of  the 
Western  world  in  the  very  hour  of  triumph  entered, 


THE  VETEEAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  9 

through  the  gate  of  treacherous  violence,  into  the  haven 
of  immortality.  The  banners  of  victory  flaunted  gaily 
over  thousands  of  happy  homes  when  the  sun  went 
clown.  Smiling  lips  told  joyful  tidings  by  the  firelit 
hearth.  Fair  cheeks  flushed  red  with  welcoming  roses 
for  the  home-coming  brave.  Even  they  that  mourned 
the  dead  forgot  their  sorrow  in  the  universal  joy.  The 
morrow's  noon  saw  the  flaunting  banners  bound  and 
draped,  the  fair  cheeks  paler  than  the  snow,  and  the 
mourners'  woe  enhanced  a  thousandfold. 

Ah!  well  do  I  remember,  Blower,  how  I  pressed 
the  empty  sleeve  against  the  aching  heart,  while  your 
polished  amber  tip  slid  from  my  quivering  lips,  as  I 
bowed  my  head  upon  the  rough  pine  desk  to  which  a 
veteran's  duty  bound  me  still,  and  wept  when  the 
morning  brought  us  knowledge  of  the  night's  bereave 
ment.  I  remember  thrusting  your  gleaming  bowl 
within  its  silken  case  and  pushing  it  aside  regardless  of 
its  soothing  fragrance.  I  remember  still  the  trace  of 
tear-drops  on  the  azure  cuff  which  marked  the  humble 
service  I  was  permitted  to  discharge.  How  often  had 
I  looked  with  pride  on  that  gold-bordered  bit  of  velvet 
which  told  of  danger  manfully  incurred,  and  duty 
faithfully  performed.  Until  that  hour  the  veteran's 
pride  had  swallowed  up  all  other  thought.  Our  coun 
try's  glory  had  blinded  me  to  all  weaker  sentiments. 
The  roar  of  battle  had  seemed  to  me  the  Nation's  regal 
challenge  to  a  wondering  world  and  waiting  future, 
published  by  the  cannon's  brazen  lips.  Laden  as  it 
might  be  with  terror,  it  always  brought  a  thrill  of  rap 
ture  to  my  heart,  because  I  heard  in  its  echoes  the 


10  THE   VETEBAN   AND   HIS   PIPE. 

angry  defiance  of  a  free  people  to  oppression,  or  the 
triumph  of  conscience  over  wrong. 

Even  the  poor  brave  comrades  who  had  shared  peril 
and  privation  with  us,  whose  bones  lay  bleaching  on  so 
many  battle-scarred  hillsides,  had  hardly  been  mourned. 
To  have  died  for  such  a  cause  seemed  more  of  a  privi 
lege  than  a  hardship.  They  were  rather  to  be  envied 
than  deplored,  because  of  the  beneficent  glory  that 
enshrined  their  memories.  It  seemed  but  natural  for  a 
soldier  to  die,  and  an  infinite  honor  to  die  for  a  cause 
so  holy.  They  had  not  fought  for  themselves,  their 
own  exaltation,  nor  even  for  their  own  homes  or  fire 
sides.  Their  devotion  was  not  tainted  by  the  flavor  of 
self.  They  died  for  the  rights  of  man,  for  the  per 
petuity  of  a  government  founded  on  liberty,  in  deadly 
conflict  with  a  republic  based  on  the  principle  of 
slavery.  These  were  foolish  notions,  as  we  now  can 
well  perceive ;  but  in  those  days  I  never  doubted  the 
Moslemic  dogma  that  "the  gates  of  heaven  swing 
easily  before  brave  souls  coming  up  from  the  battle 
field."  So  the  thought  of  conflict  brought  only  a  stern, 
strange  joy.  When  we  heard  that  thousands  fell,  we 
only  thought  how  each  death  magnified  our  victory  or 
added  strength  to  our  determination  to  avenge  defeat. 
Strange  as  it  may  seem,  I  had  hardly  mourned  the 
missing  limb,  which  molders  back  to  dust  beneath  the 
shadow  of  the  springing  pines.  We  were  young  then, 
Blower,  and  life  was  sweet  as  vernal  sunshine  to  the 
springing  early  buds.  The  thought  of  death  was  all  the 
more  irksome. because  of  life's  delightsomeness.  To  be 
maimed,  I  knew  was  to  be  branded  through  the  years 


THE   VETEEAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  11 

that  were  to  come  as  one  in  power  less  than  his  fellows 
—bearing  in  life  the  visible  sign-manual  of  death.  To 
day  I  almost  blush  to  own  that  I  was  then  proud  of 
the  folded  sleeve,  because  I  had  given  the  limb  that 
filled  it  for  the  cause  of  human  freedom.  I  did  not 
once  think  of  fame,  nor  of  comparing  myself  with  my 
fellows,  whether  the  same  had  proved  themselves 
meritorious  or  undeserving.  I  only  thought  that  I  had 
given  up  my  blood  to  swell  the  rich  tide  that  had  been 
poured  out  to  quicken  the  tree  of  liberty's  second 
growth.  Even  the  promotion  that  followed  hard  upon 
my  hurt  and  bore  date  upon  the  day  it  happened, 
seemed  a  trivial  thing  compared  with  the  high  privilege 
I  had  enjoyed. 

In  that  day,  when  clods  were  lifted  to  the  plane  of 
heroes,  and  knightly  souls  were  fired  to  marvelous 
achievment — in  all  those  years  of  conflict — there  had 
been  one,  whose  devotion  every  true  heart  felt  had  far 
eclipsed  all  others,  whose  tender,  serious,  self -forgetful 
spirit  brooded  regretfully,  yet  encouragingly,  over  every 
battle-field.  Our  "  Father  Abraham  "  had  become  to 
every  heart  a  presence  real  and  benign,  which  repre 
sented  all  that  was  noblest  and  most  glorious  in  the 
struggle  in  which  we  were  engaged.  Strange  as  it  may 
seem  to  the  hard,  material  present,  the  sad,  plain  fea 
tures  of  the  Liberator  were  glorified  to  our  eyes,  so 
that  we  only  saw  benignity,  devotion  and  a  wisdom 
passing  that  of  earth,  in  their  calm  austerity.  He  was 
to  us  the  very  impersonation  of  the  spirit  in  which  we 
fought,  "Malice  toward  none  and  charity  for  all." 
Under  its  inspiration  we  bore  "  the  banner  of  the  free" 


12  THE   VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

from  victory  to  victory,  counting  no  hardships  too 
great,  and  no  perils  too  woeful,  while  we  followed 
where  it  led.  To  us  the  homely  features  represented 
a  new  era,  which  we  fondly  hoped  would  dawn  when 
all  the  evils  of  the  past  had  been  swept  away,  and 
peace  should  bring  her  shining  harvest  of  prosperity. 
To  us  he  was  the  forerunner  of  an  era  of  unmatched 
blissfulness — a  millennium  which  should  cover  the  con 
tinent  and  send  the  reflection  of  its  glory  across  the 
seas.  We  did  not  fight  to  triumph  or  to  slay.  The 
tender  heart  that  led  us  on  would  have  grieved,  we 
fondly  thought,  had  any  impulse  so  low  and  base  nerved 
our  arms  and  steeled  our  hearts  for  conflict.  He  was 
the  glorified  incarnation  of  a  beatific  future.  We 
knew  he  had  forgotten  himself  in  his  devotion  to  a 
principle,  of  which  the  day  in  which  he  lived  was  but 
the  seed  time  of  the  harvest  which  some  distant  morrow 
was  to  bring.  His  life  had  become  so  intermingled 
with  the  nation's  future,  in  our  thought,  that  we  hardly 
counted  him  as  mortal.  We  longed  to  see  the  load  of 
care  uplifted  from  his  brow,  and  note  the  glint  of  jo 
cund  sunshine  in  his  eye  once  more.  He  was  our  "  Old 
Abe,"  calm  and  true  and  faithful.  The  touch  of  earth- 
iness  was  never  in  the  picture  which  our  loving  fancy 
drew  of  him.  We  never  once  thought  of  him  as  having 
any  personal  interest  in  the  events  that  were  happening 
beneath  his  ken.  It  was  only  as  the  guardian  angel  of 
his  country's  honor  and  the  future's  hope  that  he  over 
looked  the  vast  arena  and  smiled  sadly  but  hopefully 
when  blood  sank  into  the  thirsty  sand. 

No  vulgar  sentiment  debased  him  in  our  fancy. 


THE   VETEKAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  13 

If  we  laughed  at  scurrilous  jests,  which  made  the  tour 
of  the  camps  under  his  name,  it  was  with  no  thought 
that  the  ascription  of  paternity  was  true ;  but  with  a 
real  gladness  in  the  thought  that  the  overburdened 
heart  did  sometimes  find  even  a  momentary  relief  from 
care  in  mirthful  fancies.  He  was  to  us  a  tender  leader, 
who,  while  he  bore  his  own  great  burden  uncomplain 
ingly,  found  time  to  lighten  ours,  by  pointing  us  to  the 
future,  ever  bright  to  his  eyes  with  the  fruition  of  a 
divine  hope.  He  was  OUT  Lincoln — the  fruit  of  a  mar 
velous  past,  and  the  precursor  of  a  future  to  be  shaped 
and  moulded  by  his  aspirations  —  greater  than  the 
greatest,  humbler  than  the  lowliest ! 

So  when  death  came  to  him  in  the  hour  of 
final  triumph,  it  seemed  that  all  other  deaths  had 
been  in  vain.  The  little  we  had  done  was  naught. 
The  heroism  of  our  fallen  comrades  was  but  wasted 
manhood.  With  his  last  breath  it  seemed  that  the 
future's  hope  had  departed.  The  free,  proud,  happy 
land  which  we  had  pictured  resting  peacefully  be 
neath  his  placid  smile,  while  the  loitering  years 
went  by  and  death  unwilling  brought  at  length  the 
crown  of  immortality — this  dream,  which  had  filled  so 
many  millions  of  strong  hearts,  was  blotted  out  for 
ever.  In  his  grave  it  seemed  were  buried  all  the 
brightness  of  the  future.  Those  who  were  left,  how 
ever  good  and  great  they  might  be,  seemed  but  base 
and  mean  in  comparison  with  him — our  immortal  mar 
tyr.  The  sunshine  was  blotted  out  of  the  triumph- 
lighted  sky,  and  the  horizon  was  again  overcast.  The 
shadow  of  the  present  veiled  the  future  to  our  eyes. 


14:  THE  VETERAN  AND   HIS  PIPE. 

We  know  now,  Blower,  that  this  was  but  a  foolish 
notion — a  silly  sentiment.  The  man  whose  death 
blotted  out  the  sunlight  of  that  mid- April  day  was  not 
exceptionally  great,  if  indeed  he  was  great  at  all, 
judging  by  our  later  and,  of  course,  better  standards. 
Plain  almost  to  uncouthness,  he  brought  despair  to  the 
tailor's  heart.  Unversed  in  the  wisdom  of  the  schools, 
the  highest  culture  yet  esteems  him  but  an  uncut 
diamond — a  possible  brilliant.  Counting  the  Nation 
worthy  to  be  saved  only  as  it  represented  the  idea  of 
human  liberty  and  equal  right,  he  is  regarded  by  the 
completer  manhood  of  to-day  as  a  man  of  one  idea 
whom  the  fever  of  the  times  cast  into  accidental  prom 
inence.  Simple  as  a  child,  he  is,  of  course,  not  to  be 
ranked  among  statesmen.  Little  given  to  denunciation 
and  a  stranger  to  self-glorification,  he  is  naturally  little 
esteemed  b}^  an  age  which  accounts  fault-finding  the 
test  of  wisdom.  Deeming  the  safety  of  the  Nation 
a  matter  above  all  price,  he  is  held  in  little  esteem 
by  a  generation  of  publicists  to  whom  an  economic 
theory  outweighs  in  sacredness  the  rights  of  man. 
Even  they  who  have  written  of  him — saving  only 
one  or  two  —  seem  to  have  accounted  him  great 
only  in  kindness,  coarse  wit,  and  a  sort  of  instinctive 
cunning  in  the  measurement  of  men  and  the.  forecasting 
of  events.  They  depict  him  as  fortunate,  above  all 
other  men,  in  favoring  accidents. 

Some  have  sought  to  popularize  the  story  of  his  life 
by  magnifying  the  superficial  coarseness  of  his  nature. 
Some  who  observed  him  closely  saw  nothing  in  his 
character  but  a  strange  compound  of  the  trickster  and 


THE   VETEEAN  AND   HIS  PIPE.  15 

the  clown.  To  them  his  greatness  was  but  accidental 
and  his  marvelous  career  neither  a  legitimate  result  of 
previous  training,  nor  a  beneficient  miracle  especially 
ordained  for  the  accomplishment  of  marvelous  ends. 
He  was  simply  a  lucky  accident  of  an  anomalous  age. 
There  can  be  no  doubt  that  these  men  thought  they 
knew  him  thoroughly.  They  came  very  near  him; 
knew  his  thought ;  laughed  at  his  jests ;  wondered  at 
his  success  and  still  marvel  at  his  fame.  So  far  as  they 
were  capable  of  doing,  they  understood  his  nature,  and 
no  doubt  have  portrayed  it  truly.  We  cannot  question 
the  tree-toad's  knowledge  of  the  oak  on  which  he 
dwells. 

The  new  life  which  has  grown  up  in  the  land  has 
very  generally  accepted  their  view.  The  thought  which 
was  the  inspiration  of  yesterday  is  looked  upon  with 
kindly  toleration  to-day.  We  are  told  that  the  day  of 
sentiment  has  passed,  and  the  era  of  practicality  begun. 
Gold  is  the  criterion  of  value  and  aggregate  wealth  the 
real  test  of  statesmanship.  Patriotism  is  well  enough 
as  a  reminisence,  but  parsimony  is  the  key-note  of  pros 
perity.  Devotion  to  the  rights  of  man  is  an  innocent 
weakness  ;  gain  the  one  thing  needful.  The  capitalist's 
margins  are  more  important  to  the  Nation  than  justice 
to  the  oppressed.  This  is  the  wisdom  of  to-day,  Blower. 
It  seems  harsh  and  cold,  base  and  degrading  even,  to  us. 
But  we  must  remember  that  we  are  of  yesterday — of 
that  recent  past,  which  is  always  wrong  in  its  strictures 
of  the  present.  To-day  is  always  an  iconoclast  that 
tramples  ruthlessly  beneath  his  heel  the  idols  before 
which  yesterday  bowed  in  adoration.  We  must  be 


16  THE   VETEKAN   AND   HIS   PIPE. 

patient,  Blower,  and  learn  to  see  our  gods  debased 
without  resentment,  if  not  without  sorrow. 

Little  by  little  we  are  being  taught  the  lesson  of 
renunciation.  This  very  year  there  was  found  in  the 
legislature  of  the  state  which  holds  his  ashes  as  a  sacred 
trust,  one — thank  God  there  is  yet  but  one — who  could 
oppose,  in  the  name  and  by  the  authority  of  her  people, 
an  appropriation  amounting  to  less  than  one-hundredth 
part  of  a  cent  per  capita — one-thousandth  of  a  cent  on 
every  million  dollars  of  her  wealth — to  provide  for  the 
adornment  of  the  tomb  of  Abraham  Lincoln  on  this 
anniversary  of  his  assassination  ! 

It  seems  to  us  incredible.  But  next  year  there 
will  perchance  be  many  more  like-minded  with  him. 
We  may  even  see  the  day  when  the  sentiment 
uttered  in  the  legislature  of  a  neighboring  state, 
a  few  days  since,  shall  become  all  but  universal,  and 
the  champion  and  apologist,  if  not  the  leader,  of 
the  "Copperheads"  of  Indiana  be  generally  looked 
upon  as  a  nobler  patriot,  a  more  sagacious  states 
man,  and  a  worthier  citizen  of  the  Republic  than 
he  who  led  her  armies  to  victory.  It  is  time,  Blower, 
that  we  prepared  ourselves  to  see  the  verdict  of  yester 
day  overthrown.  What  we  then  deemed  right  may  yet 
be  accounted  the  most  grievous  wrong ;  what  we  fool 
ishly  thought  to  be  patriotism  may  yet  be  considered 
oppression,  and  what  we  believe  the  nation's  highest 
glory  may  yet  be  held  a  folly  bordering  upon  crime 
and  hardly  susceptible  of  excuse. 

Nevertheless,  Blower,  we  will  celebrate  the  double 
anniversary  once  more — the  birth-hour  of  an  epoch  and 


THE   VETEBAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  17 

the  apotheosis  of  a  hero-martyr.  The  flag  shall  float 
apeak  upon  the  staff  above  our  window,  shedding 
blessings  from  its  beauteous  folds  upon  the  rushing, 
heedless  passers-by.  Your  polished  bowl  shall  be 
heaped  with  golden  granules ;  and  as  the  smoke  wreaths 
rise  above  its  rim,  we  will  think  upon  old  times,  revive 
almost-forgotten  memories,  and  feel  again  the  thrill  of 
perished  aspirations.  We  will  still  believe  that  self-for- 
getf ulness  is  nobler  than  greed ;  that  patriotism  is  not 
to  be  measured  by  a  gold  standard ;  that  righteousness 
exalteth  a  nation ;  that  justice  to  the  lowly  of  earth  is 
honor  to  the  Highest  in  Heaven.  When  the  children 
come — the  bright-eyed  heralds  of  to-morrow — we  will 
tell  them  the  story  of  this  day  when  the  land  awoke 
to  a  new  life  and  the  noblest  of  earth  passed  over  to 
his  reward.  Perchance  in  their  lives  the  seed  sown  in 
blood  and  watered  with  tears  may  spring  into  a  fruit 
age  all  the  richer  for  the  winter  of  its  waiting.  Let  us 
not  murmur,  Blower,  but  steadfastly  believe  that  "  the 
future,  God's  fallow,  though  barren  it  seem,"  shall  yet 
outvie  the  past  in  the  ripe  fruits  of  patriotic  devotion. 
For  many  a  year  we  used  to  drape  the  flag  upon 
this  anniversary.  It  was  a  foolish  thing  to  do.  We 
mourned  when  we  ought  to  have  exulted.  We  bewailed 
the  woes  of  war  when  we  ought  to  have  magnified  its 
blessings,  and  rejoiced  in  the  glory  it  shed  upon  the 
land.  What  were  the  dead  it  left  us  in  comparison 
writh  the  fresher,  nobler  life  it  brought  ?  Honor  and 
glory  can  not  be  measured  even  by  blood  and  pain.  So, 
too,  with  him  who  went  out  from  us  in  the  hour  of 
victory.  Why  did  we  ever  weep  for  him  ?  He  passed 
2 


18  THE   VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

away  when  his  work  was  done,  leaving  a  memory  un- 
smirched  with  evil,  a  fame  unsullied  with  a  thought  of 
self.  The  purity  of  his  life,  the  unselfishness  of  his  de 
votion,  and  the  grandeur  of  his  character  are  the  price 
less  heritage  of  the  ages.  Suffering  had  not  weakened 
his  frame  ;  failure  had  not  cast  its  blight  upon  his  fame ; 
malice  had  no  opportunity  to  assail.  In  the  vigor  of 
his  strength,  at  the  zenith  of  his  glory,  in  the  very  hour 
of  victory,  the  booming  cannon  told  at  once  his  death 
and  immortality !  Happy  beyond  compare  was  he  in 
the  hour  and  manner  of  his  death.  He  did  not  live  to 
see  the  breath  of  detraction  wither  his  laurels,  nor  feel 
that  the  thought  which  inspired  his  life  had  lost  all 
significance  to  the  wisest  and  best  of  his  countrymen. 
We  mourn,  Blower,  for  his  great  lieutenant  who,  lan 
guishing,  still  lives ;  but  for  him  who  died  in  the  moment 
when  war  and  peace  met  together  to  exalt  his  fame, 
let  us  don  the  garments  of  rejoicing  and  chant  the 
songs  of  victory. 
APRIL  14,  1885. 


"FEEEDOM  AND  THE  EIGHT." 


WE  are  growing  old,  Blower,  you  and  I.  Yet  the 
years  that  we  have  seen  are  not  so  many. 
Hardly  more  than  two  score  winters  have  passed  over 
the  Veteran's  head.  Save  the  empty  sleeve,  he  shows 
little  of  the  scath  of  life.  His  eye  is  as  bright,  his  step 
as  elastic,  and  his  heart  as  young — almost  as  young,  it 
seems — as  when  poor  Joe  pressed  into  his  hand  thy  pol 
ished  bowl,  and  whispered  in  his  ear  a  dying" comrade's 
farewell  message  to  his  absent  loved  ones.  His  words 
as  they  come  back  to  memory  now,  seem  strangely 
overwrought.  No  doubt  to-day  would  deem  them 
sadly  out  of  place  upon  a  soldier's  stiffening  lips. 

"  Tell  them,"  he  said,  "  I — died — for  freedom — and 
— and" — oh  precious  last  word,  let  it  not  be  lost! 
How  the  feeble  clay  struggles  with  the  dying  thought ! 
At  length  it  comes,  so  faintly  that  the  bowed  ear 
hardly  distinguishes  between  the  whispered  word,  and 
the  night  wind's  murmur — "  and  the — right !" 

No  syllable  of  sorrow !  No  thought  of  self !  No 
murmur  of  disappointment !  ~No  word  of  consolation 
for  the  father  whose  hope  was  blighted,  for  the  mother 
whose  heart  yet  waits  expectant  for  his  coming — fondly 
self -deceived  by  every  manly  footstep.  Nay,  not  even 
a  tender  message  for  that  unwedded  widow  whose 
heart  was  that  day  sealed  forever  against  the  thought 
of  earthly  love. 

19 


20  THE   VETERAN  AND   HIS   PIPE. 

There  was  no  sorrow  in  his  eyes.  The  whispered 
words  had  no  touch  of  sadness.  The  stillness  that  fol 
lows  in  the  wake  of  battle  hung  above  the  bloody  field. 
The  bright  southern  moon  looked  calmly  down  through 
the  soft  filmy  foliage  of  the  early  spring-time.  It 
lighted  up  the  velvety  half -grown  leaves  upon  the  giant 
oaks,  that  crowned  the  crest  on  which  the  struggle 
had  begun,  until  they  seemed  like  silver  clouds  touched 
with  the  tender  green  of  summer  seas.  It  was  here 
that  the  first  few  scattering  shots  were  fired.  The 
skirmishers  had  swarmed  out  of  the  wood  beyond, 
crossed  the  narrow  valley,  and  crept  up  the  hillside 
toward  the  summit  where  his  little  force  awaited  them. 
It  was  only  an  outpost  of  the  great  army  which  lay 
behind.  He  was  not  charged  with  any  momentous 
duty.  The  strap  upon  his  shoulder  marked  only  a 
subaltern's  grade.  He  was  only  expected  to  give  the 
alarm,  and  perhaps  to  check  the  enemy's  advance  an 
instant,  while  the  waiting  lines  prepared  themselves 
to  meet  the  onset. 

The  attack  was  not  unexpected,  and  though  the 
skirmishers  wavered  for  a  moment  when  they  met  his 
fire,  the  lines  which  followed  hard  upon  their  footsteps 
swept  up  the  slope,  scarring  the  great  trunks  with 
wasted  volleys  and  tainting  the  balmy  air  of  spring  with 
sulphurous  fumes,  which  overpowered  the  fragrance  of 
the  jasmine,  while  the  little  force  which  held  the  sum 
mit  fled,  leaving  their  brave  young  commander  bleeding 
at  the  foot  of  one  of  the  great  oaks  which  crowned  the 
summit.  Then  the  tide  of  battle  ebbed  and  flowed 
back  and  forth  on  the  broad  plateau  beyond.  After 


THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  21 

a  fierce  conflict  we  forced  them  back  over  the  ridge 
into  the  wood  from  whence  they  had  come.  As  the 
sun  went  down  the  last  hot  line  of  fire  flashed  out 
upon  the  fleeing  enemy  a  half  mile  to  the  southward 
of  their  morning  camp. 

As  the  night  fell  upon  us,  I  traced  backward  the 
oattle's  bloody  track  in  search  of  my  friend.  It  is  not 
any  easy  thing  to  do  by  daylight.  The  glare  of  conflict, 
while  it  photographs  surrounding  objects  ineradicably 
upon  the  soldier's  mind,  so  distorts  distances  and  rela 
tions  that  one  is  always  surprised  when  he  tries  to 
retrace  the  steps  he  has  taken  under  fire.  It  needs  not 
the  flight  of  seasons  to  disguise  the  battle  field.  Even 
when  first  "  Ardennes  waves  above  them  her  green 
leaves,"  it  is  almost  impossible  for  the  soldier  to  desig 
nate  the  spot  where  his  comrade  fell.  The  night  made 
my  task  all  the  harder. 

The  moon,  which  hung  a  great  red  ball  on  the  edge 
of  the  horizon  when  I  began  my  search,  shifted  the 
shadows  and  gave  to  a  score  of  other  rounded  hills  the 
outline  of  the  little  "  knob  "  on  which  my  friend  had  been 
posted.  Stark  faces  shone  cold  and  white  in  the  shad 
ows  of  the  half -leaved  trees,  and  stiffened  limbs  made 
grotesque  figures  in  the  moonlight.  I  stopped  more 
than  once  to  comfort  some  wounded  sufferer.  A  thin, 
white  mist  hung  over  the  valley  where  the  conflict  had 
been  fiercest.  Voices  came  out  of  it'  at  intervals.  The 
low,  indescribable  moan  that  comes  from  the  lips  of 
many  wounded  men,  rising  and  falling  in  alternate 
wailing  cadances  rose  out  of  the  silvery  veil.  The  rum 
ble  of  wheels  away  to  the  right  told  of  trains  that  were 


22  THE   VETERAN   AND    HIS    PIPE. 

struggling  to  the  front.  A  lantern  shining  dimly  in 
the  hazy  depth,  showed  others  on  a  like  quest  with 
myself.  The  sound  of  a  spade  grating  on  the  stones 
bespoke  the  woefulness  of  a  hasty  burial  on  the  battle 
field.  We  knew  the  pursuit  would  begin  at  dawn,  and 
that  the  offices  of  friendship  must  be  speedily  per 
formed.  As  I  passed  along  an  unrecognized  crest  a 
groan  came  out  of  the  shadow  of  a  great  yellow-leaved 
Spanish  oak  that  stood  in  my  path.  I  do  not  know 
why  I  stopped  so  suddenly,  while  my  heart  stood  still 
with  fear.  Groans  had  not  been  rare  along  my  way. 
Every  soldier  knows  how  often  solitary  dead  are 
found  upon  the  verge  of  the  field  of  battle.  You  and 
I  remember,  Blower,  finding  on  the  very  outer  edge 
of  a  battle  maelstrom,  years  after  peace  had  drowned 
the  din  of  arms,  a  whitened  skeleton — a  picket  killed 
at  his  post,  crouching  behind  a  little  natural  mound, 
beneath  a  spreading  cedar  whose  drooping  boughs 
had  hidden  him  from  searching  eyes.  His  rifle,  rusty 
and  'black,  lay  beneath  him,  the  hammer  drawn  back, 
the  skeleton  finger  yet  pressed  upon  the  trigger. 

I  paused  and  listened — another  groan.  It  is  strange, 
Blower,  but  even  in  that  muffled  moan  I  recognized  my 
friend.  Poor  Joe  !  He  might  have  lived  I  think  had 
help  been  at  hand  when  he  fell.  But  the  hours  which 
had  intervened  had  drained  his  life.  He  had  but  few 
more  moments  and  strength  for  few  more  words.  He 
had  expected  me.  It  was  a  contract  of  long  standing 
that  after  every  battle  we  might  share  together,  as 
soon  as  duty  would  permit,  each  should  seek  out  the 
other.  So  he  knew  that  I  would  come.  Before  the 


THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  23 

light  had  faded  from  the  sky  he  had  traced  upon  a  bit 
of  paper,  with  a  twig  dipped  in  his  own  blood,  a  few 
last  wishes.  With  the  same  rude  stylus  he  had  written 
my  name  in  bloody  characters  upon  the  buckskin  cover 
that  encased  your  bowl.  Poor,  brave  old  Joe!  He 
clasped  my  hand  weakly;  said  he  knew  I  "would  come; 
told  me  there  was  no  hope,  and  whispering  the  message, 
"  Tell  them  that  I  died  for  freedom  and  the  right,"  fell 
asleep.  The  moon  had  found  an  opening  through  the 
leaves,  and  looked  calmly  down  upon  his  face  as  he 
breathed  his  last.  Poor  Joe !  You  were  his  dying  gift, 
Blower.  In  all  the  years  that  have  elapsed  since  then, 
I  have  never  looked  upon  your  bowl  without  thoughts 
of  him.  The  buckskin  case  has  long  since  worn  a  way, 
but  the  red,  straggling  letters,  "  J-a-c-k,"  are  still  clear 
to  my  eyes.  The  touch  of  the  worn  amber  mouth 
piece,  which  his  lips  have  pressed  so  often,  ever  brings 
old  memories  back. 

He  died  for  the  right,  Blower — "  freedom  and  the 
right ! "  So  he  said,  so  he  thought,  brave,  self -forgetful 
knight,  who  sought  not  adventure  nor  the  fame  of  valor 
ous  achievements,  but  the  establishment  of  truth !  Yet, 
brave  and  chivalrous  as  he  was.  this  true  Sir  Galahad 
was  but  a  type  of  his  time — that  time  to  which  we 
were  proud  to  belong  and  which  we  still  half  wonder- 
ingly  regret.  A  thousand  men  lay  stark  and  cold  upon 
that  field  who  had  rendered  up  their  lives  with  glad 
ness  for  the  same  idea — "  freedom  and  the  right " — the 
right  of  every  man  to  equal  power  and  privilege  with 
other  men !  Say  what  we  may,  Blower,  this  was  at  the 
bottom  of  it  all !  One  side  represented  the  rights  of 


24  THE    VETERAN   AND    HIS    PIPE. 

man,  the  other  the  rights  of  the  master.  The  one  meant 
equal  rights  for  all ;  the  other  special  privileges  for  a 
class.  It  was  only  one  phase  of  the  mighty  conflict 
which  is  as  old  as  man — the  rights  of  the  many  against 
the  encroachments  of  the  few. 

There  are  some  who  teach  to-day,  and  many  who 
believe,  that  the  cause  for  which  so  many  died  was  of 
a  narrower  scope,  and  its  upholders  animated  by 
meaner  motives.  We  better  know  the  story  of  that 
day,  Blower ;  but  we  are  getting  old,  and  our  ideas  are 
growing  sadly  old-fashioned,  too.  To  smoke  a  pipe  and 
believe  in  human  right  as  a  practical,  tangible  thing — 
a  sentiment  that  ought  to  outrank  and  overpower  all 
other  political  ideas — are  in  the  highest  degree  absurd, 
to  one  who  sucks  rice-paper  cigarettes,  glorifies  the 
Anglican  ideal,  and  studies  political  philosophy  in  the 
sweet  seclusion  of  his  club.  It  is  often  asserted  now 
adays  as  an  undeniable  truth  that  the  sole  object  of  the 
National  arms  was  to  restore  the  National  power,  for 
getful  that  this  power  was  made  worthy  of  preservation 
only  by  the  simple  fact  that  it  was  the  sole  representa 
tive  of  the  idea  of  individual  rights  and  equality  based 
upon  the  fact  of  humanity — poor  Joe's  "  freedom  and 
the  right."  Two  great  ideas  faced  each  other  in  the 
struggle — the  right  of  man  to  self-direction,  and  the 
right  of  one  man  to  control  and  modify  another's  acts 
.without  his  consent  and  against  his  will.  "Whether  it 
:be  termed  "  Rebellion  "  "  War  between  the  States  "  or 
"  War  for  separation,"  that  is  all  there  is  of  it. 

"Freedom  and  the  right!"  The  night  was  dim 
about  us,  under  the  great  oaks,  when  he  whispered  these 


THE   VETERAN   AND    HIS   PIPE.  25 

words,  but  Joe's  eyes  already  beheld  the  light  of  an  eter-' 
nal  day.  He  made  no  mistake  in  his  last  earthly  mes 
sage.  If  we  fought  merely  to  preserve  our  national 
domain  from  dismemberment,  who  shall  say  that  we 
were  right  and  they  who  stood  over  against  us  wrong  ? 
"Who  gave  to  us  the  right  "  to  have  and  hold,"  to  compel 
twelve  millions  of  people  to  accept,  continue  and  main 
tain  one  form  of  government  rather  than  another — to 
remain  a  part  of  one  nation  instead  of  establishing 
a  separate  government  ?  We  may  claim  that  such  right 
arises  from  the  Federal  compact  with  their  sires,  but 
had  our  fathers  power  to  bind  and  loose  forever  ?  Were 
they  infallible  or  their  acts  irrevocable  ?  Is  the  right 
to  hold  territory  once  assimilated,  always  a  sacred  one  ? 
Is  the  subjugation  of  a  people  desiring  self-government 
essentially  a  holy  cause  ? 

We  did  not  fight  for  "  our  altars  and  our  fires." 
No  peril  threatened  our  homes.  It  is  said  we  fought 
to  prevent  secession.  What  gave  us  the  right,  the 
moral  right  I  mean,  to  resist  with  force  of  arms  such  a 
movement.  Joe's  farewell  message  tells  it  all — "free 
dom  and  the  right."  Because  man  had  a  right  to  lib 
erty  and  life,  to  free  access  to  that  golden  gate  of  op 
portunity — "the  pursuit  of  happiness" — and  because 
our  nation  represented  this  idea,  it  was  that  we  fought 
for  "  freedom  and  the  right " — the  freedom  of  some  mill 
ions  who  had  been  in  bondage,  and  the  rights  of  other 
millions  which  had  been  held  in  abeyance  by  unright 
eous  debasement  of  the  freeman's  privilege.  We  fought 
too,  or  thought  we  fought,  for  the  freedom  and  the  rights 
of  the  unnumbered  millions  who  should  stand  between 


26  THE   VETEEAN   AND   HIS   PIPE. 

our  day  of  conflict  and  the  hither  shore  of  eternity. 
We  fought  to  secure  infinite  blessing  to  them  and  to 
avert  infinite  woe.  We  counted  our  cause  supremely 
holy  because  success  could  add  little  to  our  own  honor, 
prosperity,  or  ease,  but  offered  all  its  rich  harvest  of 
blessing  to  other  ages  and  an  alien  and  oppressed  peo 
ple.  Even  their  freedom  was  not  all  for  which  we 
fought,  Blower.  Poor  Joe  phrased  it  rightly  under 
the  gray -green  boughs  of  early  spring,  while  the  whip- 
poorwill  sent  up  his  monotonous  chant  from  the  hill 
beyond,  and  the  evening  breeze  brought  the  odor  of 
the  jasmine  from  the  valley  yet  hidden  by  the  pow 
der  smoke.  "  Freedom  and  the  right,"  he  said — their 
freedom  and  their  rights  whose  liberty  had  been  denied, 
and  whose  rights  had  been  curtailed  in  the  past — the 
freedom  and  the  rights  of  man  in  all  the  future ! 

We  thought  we  were  right,  Blower ;  Joe  thought 
so.  Those  who  died  and  those  who  lived  in  that 
strange  yesterday  counted  the  conflict  righteous  in  its 
purpose,  infinite  in  its  consequences,  and  inexorable 
in  its  behests.  Were  we  right?  Was  Joe  right, 
Blower  ?  Were  the  dead  whose  sweet  blood  nourishes 
oak  and  pine  to-day — were  they  right  or  wrong?  The 
question  seems  sacrilegious.  I  fancy  that  the  fire 
within  your  bowl  grows  redder  and  hotter  as  my  lips 
frame  the  inquiry.  Yet  it  is  a  question  which  must  be 
asked  and  answered ;  not  by  us,  but  by  the  American 
people ;  not  by  to-day  only,  but  by  many  unrisen  to 
morrows. 

If  we  were  right,  then  some  one  must  have  been 
wrong.  If  "the  blue"  stood  for  righteousness,  then  as- 


THE   VETEEAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  27 

suredly  "  the  gray  "  meant  oppression.  Light  and  dark 
ness  cannot  coexist.  Yet  it  will  not  do  to-day  to  inti 
mate  that  those  who  stood  over  against  us  then  were 
wrong.  -To  impute  error  to  them,  even  be  it  never  so 
lightly  done,  is  accounted  not  only  an  act  of  folly,  but  a 
grievous  wrong. 

I  will  not  do  them  wrong  ;  I  rather  choose 
To  wrong  the  dead . 

Why  are  opposites  irreconciliable,  or  antipodes  in 
capable  of  conjunction  ?  Why  should  right  be  right, 
or  wrong  be  wrong  ?  If  only  we  might  say,  "  There  is 
no  right,"  we  might  escape  the  odious  inference  of 
another's  wrong.  Or  if  both  might  be  in  the  right,  there 
could  be  no  ground  for  blame.  Perhaps  this  may  be 
true.  Freedom  may  not  have  been  exactly  right,  nor 
slavery  entirely  wrong.  Perchance  the  Nation  did  not 
stand  for  freedom  after  all,  nor  the  Confederacy  mean 
injustice  to  the  weak  and  oppression  by  the  strong ; 
Joe  may  have  been  wrong  even  at  the  last.  Unfortu 
nately  sincerity  is  no  reliable  test  of  truth.  Something 
more  than  honesty  of  purpose  is  needed  to  constitute 
right  conduct.  Honesty  is  always  the  chief  ally  of 
fanaticism,  and  Joe  may  have  been  a  fanatic. 

It  is  said  that  the  voice  of  the  people  is  the  voice  of 
God,  but  that  it  must  be  "  the  still,  small  voice,"  the 
outcome  of  the  sober  second  thought  which  speaks  the 
will  of  the  Eternal — not  the  voice  of  passion  nor  the 
roar  of  the  excited  populace.  Amid  the  tumult  of 
arms  we  are  told  that  not  only  the  laws  are  silent,  but 
the  voice  of  reason  also.  It  is  only  after  the  frenzy  of 
conflict  has  passed  away  that  we  must  look  for  that 


28  THE    VETEKAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

calm  judgment  of  the  event  which  shall  bear  the  test 
of  time  and  truly  deserve  to  represent  the  findings  of 
the  infinite  mind  upon  the  facts  of  yesterday.  That 
time  would  seem  at  length  to  have  come.  It  is  twenty 
years  since  the  last  battle-shock  sent  its  rapturous  thrill 
through  the  hearts  of  war-worn  veterans.  During 
that  time  one-half  of  those  who  then  lived  and 
wrought  have  gone  to  their  eternal  rest.  To-day  sits 
in  calm  and  unbiased  judgment  upon  yesterday.  A 
new  life  makes  up  the  verdict.  Was  Joe  right  accord 
ing  to  this  judgment  ? 

Alas,  Blower,  there  is  every  reason  to  believe  that 
the  Nation  of  to-day  is  ready  to  ignore  the  spirit  and 
the  works  of  yesterday.  Of  those  wrho  fought  against 
us  hardly  one  in  ten  thousand  has  admitted  that  they 
were  in  the  wrong,  or  that  we  were  in  the  right.  The 
slave's  freedom,  as  a  formally  accomplished  fact,  a 
state  established  by  legal  enactment,  they  admit. 
That  the  right  to  free  the  slave  and  enfranchise  the 
freedman,  inhered  in  the  Nation,  or  that  the  "  freedom 
and  the  right "  for  which  Joe  fought,  or  any  privileges 
based  thereon,  are  founded  in  natural  justice,  they  stub 
bornly  and  almost  universally  deny.  They  admit  the 
failure  of  their  hope  of  separate  dominion,  and  "declare 
their  willingness  to  abide  by  the  arbitrament  of  the 
sword  ;  but  twenty  years  have  not  sufficed  to  convince 
them  of  its  righteousness,  or  lead  them  to  admit  that  a 
warfare,  waged  in  support  of  slavery,  contained  any 
element  of  wrong.  On  the  contrary,  they  vaunt 
their  submission  as  a  meritorious  thing ;  and  boast  of 
their  forbearance  in  recognizing  and  tolerating  a  gov- 


THE   VETERAN  AND   HIS   PIPE.  29 

eminent  reestablished,  as  they  claim,  by  injustice  and 
oppression. 

One  who  has  just  been  chosen  to  represent  the 
power  and  dignity  of  this  government  at  a  foreign 
court,  at  a  public  dinner  of  congratulation  given  him 
by  admiring  friends  in  the  late  capital  of  the  Confed 
eracy,  recently  declared  in  a  tone  of  proud  conde 
scension,  that  those  who  fought  for  secession  were  now 
loyal  to  the  National  Government,  though  its  au 
thority  was  ''founded  on  a  gross  and  bloody  viola 
tion  of  public  rights." 

The  Confederate  hosts  in  battle  array,  contended 
that  the  u  freedom  and  right "  for  which  Joe  thought 
he  died,  were  in  fact  wrongs  to  which  they  would 
never  submit.  To-day  they  aver  that  they  have  sub 
mitted  thus  far  to  such  wrong — a  wrong  "  founded  on  a 
perversion  of  public  right,"  remember,  Blower — and 
claim  by  such  formal  submission,  to  have  acquired  the 
right  to  practically  annul  the  privileges  conferred  upon 
an  oppressed  people  by  the  conquerors  of  their 
oppressors.  Only  yesterday  an  arrogant  mouthpiece 
of  the  sentiment  of  the  South,  speaking  through  the 
pages  of  a  great  magazine — one  who  not  content  with 
his  simple  signature,  adds  thereto  in  "  small  caps " 
what  no  other  writer  deems  necessary,  the  place  of  his 
residence — this  representative  thinker  of  the  lately  re 
bellious  states  declares  that  the  "  victorious  armies  of 
the  North  could  not  have  enforced  and  maintained  i  at 
the  South '  the  policy  of  the  civil  rights  bill " — a  "  bill " 
which  to-day  is  the  law  of  the  land,  and  most  unques- 


30  THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE. 

tionably  a  part  of  "the  right"  for  which  poor  Jde 
thought  he  was  rendering  up  his  life. 

But  this  is  not  all.  One  can  hardly  blame  a  proud 
people  for  refusing  to  admit  themselves  to  have  been  in 
the  wrong.  It  is  their  right  to  do  so,  and  I  am  not  sure 
we  do  not  all  like  them  the  better  for  it,  even  you  and  I, 
Blower ;  but  they  have  no  right  to  expect  or  demand 
that  we  who  fought  with  Joe,  or  the  nation  whose  honor 
we  maintained,  shall  admit  their  claim  or  recognize  in 
them  a  fitness  to  bear  rule  or  represent  authority  be 
cause  of  it.  Yet  this  very  thing  is  what  we  have  done. 
The  public  sentiment  even  of  the  North  declares 
against  the  thought  of  yesterday.  With  clamorous 
shamefacedness  we  cry  out  for  forgetfulness  and  im 
plore  the  shield  of  oblivion  for  our  acts  and  motives. 
We  insist  on  leaving  a  dead  past  to  bury  its  dead. 
The  present  chooses  among  the  men  of  yesterday  with 
exceeding  care,  one  who  never  yet  has  uttered  a  single 
word  of  commendation  of  that  "freedom  and  the 
right "  for  which  Joe  died,  as  the  Nation's  executive 
head.  Two  of  the  great  departments  of  government 
are  placed  under  the  control  of  men  who  yet  stoutly 
maintain  the  moral  turpitude  of  the  National  cause. 
Men  are  selected  to  represent  the  country  abroad  who 
have  defiantly  refused  to  recognize  the  righteousness  of 
the  results  of  the  conflict,  and  thereby  have  even  cast  a 
doubt  on  their  own  citizenship.  And  worst  of  all, 
saddest  of  all,  old  friend,  those  of  our  Northern  kith 
and  kin  who  rejoiced  when  our  arms  suffered  reverse, 
and  mourned  when  victory  sat  upon  our  banners— 
those  who  mocked  at  Lincoln  in  his  agony  and  de- 


THE   VETEEAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  31 

nounced  Grant  in  the  hour  of  triumph — these  men  are 
singled  out  through  all  the  land  to  typify  the  thought 
of  to-day  and  represent  the  power  and  authority  of  the 
government  saved  from  destruction  by  the  valor  and 
self-sacrifice  of  such  as  he  whose  heroism  we  recall  on 
this  anniversary.  It  is  hard  enough  to  see  the  flag 
placed  at  half-mast  in  honor  of  one  whose  chosen  rela 
tion  to  our  government  was  that  of  a  traitor  and  an 
enemy,  who  inspired  from  the  secure  shelter  of  a  neu 
tral  territory  the  incendiary's  torch  and  the  murderer's 
dagger;  but  it  is  a  thousand  times  harder  to  see  those 
Avho  exulted  in  Joe's  death  vaunting  themselves  to 
day  upon  the  overthrow  of  the  principles  for  which  he 
fought. 

Yet  we  will  not  be  disconsolate,  old  friend.  If 
yesterday  was  but  half  right,  it  will  stand  foreover 
famous  in  history  for  what  it  believed  and  what  it  did. 
Joe  may  not  have  died  for  "  freedom  and  the  right ;" 
nay,  he  may  have  given  his  life  for  folly  and  the  wrong, 
but  he  did  it  freely  and  gladly ;  and  we  will  ever  think 
of  his  dying  face  glorified  by  the  moonlight  shining 
through  the  rift  in  the  soft  spring  foliage  as  that  of 
one  wearing  the  halo  of  self-sacrifice,  which  alone  en 
titles  mortals  to  claim  immortality. 

APRIL  21,  1885. 


HIGH  WATEE  MAKK 


AS  the  season  advances  during  which  military 
operations  are  possible,  each  day  becomes  an 
anniversary,  Blower.  By  many  of  our  comrades  this 
day  is  no  doubt  regarded  as  one  of  the  saddest  and 
most  humiliating  in  its  reminiscences  of  all  those  which 
mark  the  progress  of  the  long,  uncertain  conflict  be 
tween  freedom  and  slavery,  or  more  properly,  between 
the  right  to  be  free  and  the  privilege  of  enslavement. 
Yet  in  truth  this  day,  twenty-two  years  ago,  marked 
the  climax  of  our  peril  and  the  beginning  of  the 
end.  Up  to  that  time  the  Confederacy  had  met  with 
no  disaster  which  a  great  victory  on  the  Potomac  might 
not  at  any  time  overbalance.  Then  it  received  a  hurt 
for  which  there  was  no  cure.  Looking  out  of  our  prison 
windows  on  that  day  we  noted  the  effect  of  the  blow 
that  fell  upon  the  heart  of  the  Confederacy. 

Only  the  day  before,  its  congress  had  prescribed  the 
banner  that  should  wave  above  its  embattled  hosts,  and 
had  defined  the  escutcheon  which  they  fondly  hoped  to 
place  among  the  permanent  emblems  of  national  sover 
eignty.  It  bore  across  its  face  a  significant  appeal  to 
the  God  of  battles.  With  the  morrow's  setting  sun  men 
looked  into  each  other's  faces  and  with  trembling  lips 

NOTE— May  2, 1863.  The  battle  of  Chancellorsville.  was  fought  on  this 
day,  and  "  Stonewall  "  Jackson  received  the  wounds  of  which  he  died  on  the 
10th  of  the  same  month,  which  latter  date  was  most  appropriately  chosen  as 
the  Confederate  "  Memorial  Day." 

32 


THE   VETERAN    AND    HIS   PIPE.  33 

inquired,  "  Is  it  thus  that  the  Avenger  answers  ? "  For 
the  first  time  in  the  history  of  the  young  nation  the 
gleam  of  hostile  sabers  was  seen  from  the  dome  beneath 
which  her  legislators  were  assembled,  and  armed  foes 
for  the  first  time  entered  the  city's  gates.  Yet  it  was 
a  day  of  humiliation  and  disaster  for  the  great  Repub 
lic  also.  He  "  who  maketh  the  wrath  of  man  to  praise 
Him  "  on  that  day  not  only  rebuked  those  who  wrongly 
trusted,  but  smote  those  who  arrogantly  scorned.  It 
is  not  without  reason  that  the  Confederate  survivors  of 
that  struggle  adopted  as  their  "  Memorial  Day "  the 
one  which  marked  the  immediate  result  of  this  day's 
mishap  to  their  cause.  This  day  saw  the  beginning 
of  its  overthrow ;  Appomattox  only  brought  the  end. 

At  the  outset  of  the  war  there  can  be  no  doubt  that 
the  apparent  chances  of  success  were  very  clearly  in 
favor  of  the  national  government.  "We  have  been  ac 
customed  to  magnify  our  difficulties,  Blower ;  but  in 
comparison  with  those  which  faced  the  Confederacy, 
history  will  declare  them  to  have  been  not  worthy  of 
consideration.  Indeed,  so  overwhelming  were  our 
advantages  as  an  established  government  with  a  work 
ing  organization,  and  recognized  national  position,  that 
those  who  prided  themselves  upon  their  wisdom,  and 
foolishly  regarded  war  as  merely  a  commercial  venture — 
a  trial  of  dead  strength — who  regarded  numbers  and 
equipment  as  the  chief  elements  of  an  army's  effective 
ness — did  not  hesitate  to  predict  a  brief  conflict  and 
assured  victory  for  the  national  forces.  If  a  man  of 
capacity  and  will,  unfettered  by  the  limitations  which 
an  absent  and  over-cautious  superior  imposed,  and  un- 


34:  THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

trammeled  by  the  requirements  of  counselors  who 
demanded  the  defeat  of  the  enemy  without  the  injury 
of  friend  or  foe — in  other  words,  if  a  competent  com 
mander  having  only  military  aims  in  view,  had  held 
undivided  control  of  the  resources  of  our  government 
at  the  outset,  there  can  hardly  be  a  doubt  that  these 
predictions  would  have  been  fulfilled.  Under  compe 
tent  leadership,  with  thorough  administrative  support, 
the  resources  of  the  national  government  ought  to  have 
swept  the  fungus  growth  of  rebellion  out  of  existence 
almost  in  a  day. 

The  newspaper  clamor,  "  On  to  Richmond,"  which 
for  a  score  of  years  has  been  objurgated  as  the  senseless 
overture  of  the  first  great  disaster  to  our  arms,  the  de 
feat  of  Bull  Run,  was  in  truth  but  the  voice  of  an 
universal  instinct.  The  seed  of  revolt  may  germinate 
slowly,  but  once  it  bursts  its  capsule  no  wisdom  or 
foresight  can  measure  its  growth.  A  baby's  foot 
crushes  the  tender  twig  to-day  ;  a  giant's  strength  is 
powerless  to  bend  the  towering  oak  to-morrow.  If  the 
government  had  used  its  resources  at  the  outset  to 
destroy  its  enemy  instead  of  showing  such  anxiety  to 
defend  itself,  the  Confederacy  would  have  been  crushed 
as  easily  as  the  eggshell  to  which  it  was  so  often 
likened.  To  a  warlike  people,  with  a  warlike  spirit 
and  warlike  purpose,  the  military  problem  of  1861  was 
not  difficult  or  doubtful.  It  was  the  will  to  conquer, 
the  determination  to  overthrow,  obliterate  and  punish 
that  was  wanting  rather  than  the  power.  We  hesitated 
to  strike  lest  some  one  should  be  hurt.  Instead  of 
hurling  all  our  power  on  the  presumptuous  enemy,  we 


THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  35 

waited  for  him  to  gather  strength  and  make  the 
attack  in  his  own  way  and  at  his  own  time.  Even 
when  we  finally  assumed  the  offensive,  it  was  only  to 
meet  the  aggression  of  the  enemy.  The  battle  of  Bull 
Run  was  fought  upon  the  ground  it  made  historic  only 
because  the  neglect  of  a  subordinate  prevented  the 
orders  of  the  Confederate  commander  from  being  pub 
lished  to  his  lieutenants  in  time  to  allow  the  forward 
movement  to  begin  at  daylight,  as  he  intended.  A 
day's  precipitation  or  half  a  day's  delay  and  the  Con 
federacy  would  have  been  shattered  into  fragments  by 
the  first  great  battle  shock.  A  day  before  and  Jack 
son  and  his  forces  would  not  have  been  in  the  fight.  A 
half -day  later  and  the  Confederates  would  have  been 
the  attacking  party.  In  either  event  the  issue  can 
hardly  be  regarded  as  doubtful.  The  Nation,  because 
of  its  established  and  consolidated  character,  was  able 
to  endure  the  strain  of  defeat.  The  Confederacy — a 
half-established  venture  in  government — would  have 
been  hopelessly  overwhelmed  by  a  single  great  catastro 
phe,  followed  up  by  a  vigorous  assault,  for  which  abund 
ant  material  was  at  hand.  Up  to  that  time  the  advan 
tage  was  very  clearly  with  the  National  Government. 

From  that  hour,  however,  the  conditions  were 
reversed.  On  the  22d  day  of  July,  1861,  the  Confed 
eracy  was  a  thousand  times  stronger  than  on  the 
morning  of  the  21st.  From  that  day  until  the  2d  day 
of  May,  1863,  the  odds  were  with  the  Confederacy. 
If  Jackson  had  been  at  the  head  of  the  Confederate 
army,  instead  of  Johnson ;  if  Jefferson  Davis  had  not 
been  the  strange  compound  of  vanity  and  vacillation 


36  THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE. 

that  he  is;  if  Beauregard  had  been  able  to  see  any 
thing  outside  his  own  shadow  in  the  sunshine  of  suc 
cess,  we  should  have  never  seen  the  peaceful,  quiet 
year  of  waiting  that  ensued,  while  McClellan  prepared 
and  polished  the  ponderous  machine  he  deemed  neces 
sary  to  enable  him  to  face  with  fear  and  trembling  the 
cohorts  of  the  foe.  But  even  this  was  not  sufficient  to 
assure  the  triumph  of  the  National  army.  The  mag 
nificently  equipped  battalions  which  set  out  by  land 
and  sea  to  conquer  the  capital  of  the  Confederacy,  in 
the  spring  of  1862,  were  not  enough  to  restore  the 
equilibrium  of  chances.  Even  then  the  odds  remained 
with  the  Confederates. 

They  had  three  great  advantages :  a  united  people, 
a  defensive  warfare,  and  a  government  made  bold 
to  audacity  by  the  magnitude  and  peril  of  their 
undertaking.  On  the  other  hand,  three  things  con 
spired  to  endanger  or  delay  the  success  of  the  Union 
arms:  an  overestimate  of  the  enemy's  prowess,  an 
uncertain  public  sentiment,  and  a  strange  admixture 
of  military  and  political  motives.  Of  the  two  great 
armies  which  faced  each  other  at  that  time,  the  one 
excelled  in  numbers,  the  other  in  spirit.  The  one  had 
behind  it  a  nation  fertile  in  resources,  but  divided  in 
purpose.  The  other  represented  a  people  weak  in 
administrative  and  constructive  development,  but  uni 
fied  by  a  common  aim,  and  rich  in  the  audacity  which 
self-confidence  inspires.  The  one  had  the  sea  for  its 
ally,  while  the  other  had  the  mountains  and  the  rivers 
for  their  bulwarks.  But  above  all  things, -these  armies 
differed  in  the  fact  that  one  numbered  among  its  lead- 


THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  37 

ers  Thomas  Jonathan  Jackson,  the  "Stonewall"  behind 
whose  genius  for  war  the  Confederacy  rested  in  confi 
dent  security,  while  the  other  had  among  its  recognized 
leaders  none  worthy  of  comparison  with  him  in  the 
power  of  achievement.  At  the  West,  it  is  true,  the 
National  cause  was  developing  men  who  were  destined 
to  exhibit  qualities  hardly  excelled  in  history.  Grant, 
Sherman,  Sheridan  and  Thomas,  the  wondrous  galaxy  of 
western  leaders  around  whose  names  clusters  the  glory 
of  the  closing  years  of  war,  had  as  yet  only  given  prom 
ise  of  power.  Leaving  out  of  consideration  Meade, 
whose  painstaking  care  gave  us  Gettysburg,  and  whose 
caution  allowed  Lee's  army  to  escape  destruction,  these 
are  the  only  Generals  on  the  Federal  side  who  dis 
played  a  capacity  to  originate  strategic  movements, 
conduct  great  campaigns,  win  decisive  victories,  and 
destroy  opposing  armies.  This  is  no  disparagement  to 
others,  Blower.  There  are  in  all  armies  thousands  of 
good  soldiers  and  hundreds  of  good  lieutenants,  but 
rarely  more  than  one  great  leader. 

On  this  day  twenty-two  years  ago,  Blower,  Grant 
was  only  the  victor  of  Henry  and  Donelson,  the  un van 
quished  defender  of  Pittsburg  Landing,  and  the  long- 
baffled  assailant  of  Yicksburg.  At  that  time  he  was 
just  beginning  that  movement  which  crowned  him  con 
queror  of  the  "  Gibraltar  of  the  South."  Sherman  was 
but  a  corps  commander  under  him ;  Thomas  was  only 
Rosecrans'  lieutenant,  and  Sheridan's  ambition  looked 
no  higher  than  the  division  he  had  just  received.  Our 
great  leaders  were  yet  in  embryo.  Meade  alone  was 
nearing  the  zenith  of  an  unexpected  fame. 


38  THE   VETERAN   AND    HIS   PIPE. 

For  the  Confederates,  however,  this  was  the  climac 
teric  hour.  Lee  stood  among  a  group  of  faithful  and 
unquestioning  subordinates,  first  only  in  rank  and  in 
the  power  to  direct  and  utilize  the  energies  of  others. 
Karely  indeed  has  any  leader  seen  about  him  such  an 
array  of  confident,  harmonious  co-workers.  Those  two 
elements  of  discord,  Johnston  and  Beauregard,  had 
been  eliminated  from  the  army  of  Northern  Virginia, 
and  Lee  stood  at  the  head  of  a  host  among  whose 
captains  rivalry  was  unknown  and  generous  emulation 
always  rife.  When  the  sun  rose  on  that  day  the  Con 
federate  cause  was  at  its  zenith.  When  the  morrow 
came  it  had  won  a  great  victory,  and  begun  that  decline 
which  ended  only  at  Appomattox. 

A  few  days  before  an  overconfident  young  general, 
whose  tongue  had  lately  wagged  boastfully  against  the 
great,  patient,  self-forgetful  heart  at  Washington, 
through  whose  favor  he  had  been  exalted,  had  crossed 
the  river  which  had  so  long  separated  the  hostile  arma 
ments,  and  offered  battle  to  his  great  opponent.  He 
brought  with  him  an  army  splendidly  equipped,  well- 
drilled  and  finely  officered.  Its  veteran  rank  and  file 
were  smarting  from  the  sting  of  undeserved  reproaches. 
Its  commander  bore  in  his  pocket  the  generous  rebuke 
of  the  President,  who,  referring  to  his  insubordinate 
boasting,  only  urged  him  to  make  good  his  claim  to 
supreme  command  by  winning  a  decisive  victory. 
Spurred  by  this  incentive  Hooker  had,  after  the  most 
elaborate  preparation,  finally  made  ready  to  deliver 
battle  to  the  foe  whom  two  years  of  victory  had  made 
doubly  formidable.  His  army  lacked  but  two  things 


THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  39 

to  insure  victory — a  leader  who  could  command  like 
Lee,  and  a  general  who  could  win  battles  like  Jackson. 

That  was  a  terrible  May  Day  our  comrades  cele 
brated  under  the  fresh-leaved  oaks  at  Chancellorsville, 
Blower.  All  day  "in  even  scale  the  battle  hung."  In 
the  capital  of  the  Confederacy,  fifty  miles  away,  we 
heard  the  thunder  of  'the  guns,  borne  on  the  soft 
spring  breeze.  From  the  windows  of  Libby  we  saw 
the  glare  of  beacon-lights  that  marked  the  course  of 
our  daring  troopers  as  they  swept  around  the  beleagu 
ered  city.  The  veterans  who  guarded  the  prison  looked 
grave,  but  did  their  duty  with  soldierly  precision.  The 
next  day  our  forces  pressed  the  enemy  backward,  for 
Jackson  and  his  men  were  not  there.  Our  vainglorious 
young  commander  exulted  in  the  thought  that  he  had 
gone  to  succor  the  threatened  capital.  But  when  "  the 
sun  hung  low  o'er  the  westling  hill,"  with  the  swoop 
of  an  eagle  on  his  prey,  Jackson  burst  upon  the  unpro 
tected  and  unsuspecting  right  flank  and  swept  the  thin 
line  back  upon  itself,  while  the  shrill  shouts  that 
heralded  Confederate  success,  thrilled  with  terror  the 
soldiers  who  were  preparing  to  bivouac  after  the  day's 
weary  conflict.  They  knew  that  thunderbolt  of  war, 
"  the  right  hand  of  Lee,"  was  upon  them  and  his  name 
had  so  long  been  a  synonym  of  victory  that  almost  the 
whole  army  fled  before  him,  and  the  young  leader  who 
had  already  begun  to  dream  of  victory  had  now  to 
exert  himself  to  the  utmost  to  save  what  was  left  of 
his  shattered  battalions.  The  Confederacy  was  again 
victorious,  but  Jackson  would  command  no  more. 

His  loss  far  outweighed  the  triumph  of  their  arms. 


40  THE   VETEEAN   AND   HIS   PIPE. 

The  unerring  instinct  of  an  imperiled  people  saw  in  his 
death  the  presage  of  disaster.  The  bulletins  of  victory 
could  not  restore  confidence  to  the  dwellers  in  the 
capital. 

The  veterans  who  had  guarded  the  prison  were 
hastily  marched  away  and  their  places  supplied  with 
undisciplined  volunteers.  The  terror  and  apprehension 
that  were  apparent  on  all  sides,  the  hosts  of  frightened 
fugitives  whom  we  could  see  from  the  prison  windows 
fleeing  from  the  city,  all  these  things  led  us  to  believe 
the  rumor  of  Confederate  defeat,  and  discredit  the  reas 
suring  dispatches  that  followed  close  upon  its  heels. 
That  night  the  fires  that  marked  the  track  of  our 
cavalry  were  nearer  still.*  A  young  officer  was  brought 
in  to  share  our  imprisonment,  captured  almost  within 
the  city  limits.  The  "  home  guards,"  who  kept  watch 
and  ward  over  us,  were  greatly  excited.  Few  slept  that 
night  in  Libby.  In  that  upper  room  where  almost  half 
a  thousand  were  confined  there  were  exulting  songs  and 
sleepless  vigils.  Every  eye  watched  with  anxious 
scrutiny  the  points  of  light  that  told  of  the  raiders' 
presence. 

Every  moment  we  looked  with  foolish  expectancy 
to  see  the  flame  of  battle  sweep  over  some  dark  and 
silent  crest.  Was  not  Jackson  dead?  Did  not  our 
custodians  think  defeat  was  sure  if  Jackson  no  longer 
lived  to  lead  ?  So  we  sung  songs  in  the  darkness  and 
waited  for  the  dawn  and  "  Fighting  Joe,"  who  needed 


*  Kilpatrick's  cavalry  raid  came  so  near  the  city  that  the  light  of  its  fires 
was  easily  seen.  The  city  might  unquestionably  have  been  seized  and 
burned  by  them  if  the  true  condition  of  affairs  had  been  understood. 


THE   VETEKAN    AND   HIS   PIPE.  41 

all  his  courage  and  all  his  skill  that  day  to  rescue  his 
army  from  the  disaster  following  the  last  blow  of  the 
dead  chieftain.  While  we  crowded  about  the  low  case 
ments,  peering  between  the  bars  at  the  signal  lights 
that  flashed  along  the  hills  beyond,  a  voice  full  of 
malignant  hate  informed  us  that  the  guards  had  orders 
to  fire  on  any  who  showed  themselves  at  the  windows. 
Even  as  he  spoke  a  bullet  whizzed  through  the  open 
casement  and  buried  itself  in  the  joists  above.  The 
cool  evening  breeze  came  in  through  the  narrow  sashes, 
where  four  hundred  panting,  sweltering  men  waited 
for  its  balmy  breath.  But  the  sentries  were  ordered  to 
fire  upon  any  one  whom  it  tempted  near  the  grating, 
or  whom  the  hope  of  rescue  induced  to  watch  the  beacon 
lights  which  shone  above  the  city's  roofs. 

It  was  a  night  we  shall  never  forget,  Blower — a 
night  of  hope,  anxiety  and  rage.  It  is  said,  Blower, 
that  the  slender  }Toung  officer  who  gave  the  order 
which  put  a  dead-line  in  front  of  every  window  in  that 
crowded  room  was  a  young  Marylander,  whose  desire 
to  serve  his  country's  enemies  was  so  intense  that  he 
fled  across  the  border,  and  begged  to  be  made  an  as 
sistant  jailer  in  the  most  famous  of  rebel  prisons.  It 
was  not  a  hard  or  dangerous  place,  and  decidedly  not 
an  unprofitable  one.  It  was  a  queer  position  for  an 
enthusiastic  Maryland  rebel  to  select  in  which  to  dis 
play  his  devotion  to  the  Southern  cause,  but  patriotism 
takes  on  curious  guises  and  covets  strange  tasks  at 
times.  It  is  said,  Blower,  but  I  can  not  believe  it  true, 
that  this  assistant  of  the  fiery-tempered  soldier  who 
was  the  commandant  of  the  prison,  this  imported 


42  THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE. 

deputy-turnkey,  after  various  characteristic  evolutions, 
has  become  the  right  hand  of  the  Secretary  of  the 
Treasury  of  the  United  States,  under  whose  direction 
and  control  our  "civil  service"  is  to  be  purified  and 
"  offensive  partisans  "  decapitated  "  in  the  interests  of 
good  government "  and  a  "  reunited  country."  If  it 
indeed  be  true  we  can  well  understand,  Blower,  that  his 
experience  in  Libby  will  enable  him  to  select  with 
great  readiness  those  "  offensive  partisans"  with  whose 
countenances  he  may  there  have  become  familiar,  and 
whose  names  he  may  recall  as  appearing  on  the  reg 
ister  of  that  institution.  Whether  the  newly-devised 
system  of  bookkeeping*  which  has  been  adopted  in 
the  Treasury,  was  modeled  on  that  which  prevailed  in 
Libby  or  not,  will  probably  never  be  known.  It  has 
at  least  some  features  in  common  with  the  system  there 
prevailing ;  the  funds  on  hand  are  counted  among  its 
liabilities ;  hard  cash  is  not  considered  an  available 
asset,  and  the  surplus  is  redeemed  without  the  for 
mality  of  being  paid  out. 

We  have  no  objection  to  the  ex-Confederate, 
Blowrer.  The  manhood  which  maintained  the  "lost 
cause  "is  worthy  of  all  honor.  We  would  bedeck  with 
flowers  the  graves  of  their  dead  as  readily  as  the  last 
resting-places  of  our  comrades — not  because  they  were 
right,  Blower,  but  because  they  were  brave.  To  all  of 
those  who  fought  we  accord  the  meed  of  sincerity, 
and  to  many  of  those  who  were  for  the  wrong  we 

*  One  of  the  first  acts  of  Mr.  Cleveland's  administration  was  to  change 
the  form  of  the  customary  monthly  statement  of  the  public  debt  so  as  to  re 
duce  the  apparent  surplus.  Whatever  may  have  been  the  real  motive,  it 
was  an  act  which  could  not  fail  to  arouse  suspicion. 


THE   VETEEAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  43 

render  unbounded  admiration.  If  they  have  surrend 
ered  not  only  the  weapons  of  warfare  but  the  princi 
ples  on  which  rebellion  rested,  the  Republic  can 
have  no  worthier  citizens.  If  they  still  count  the 
reestablishment  of  National  power  "a  great  public 
wrong,"  have  "no  regrets  to  offer  and  no  apologies 
to  make  "  for  having  aided  in  carrying  on  a  rebellion 
founded  on  slavery,  and  demanding  a  myriad  heca 
tombs  of  our  best  lives,  we  can  not,  with  all  our  char 
ity,  count  them  worthy  to  control  the  policy  of  the 
country,  and  shape  the  destinies  of  a  free  people.  But 
if  they  must  bear  sway,  if  those  Avho  supported  the 
Confederacy,  and  still  believe  the  "  lost  cause  "  to  have 
been  a  holy  one,  are  rightfully  and  lawfully  entitled  to 
control  and  administer  the  government,  let  us  at  least 
hope  and  pray  that  the  bravest  and  best  may  be  taken, 
and  the  meanest  and  basest  be  left.  A  deputy  jailer 
of  Libby*  and  the  engineer  of  the  Alabamaf  may  be 
very  good  men  as  men  go,  but  the  flavor  of  an  un 
pleasant  notoriety  renders  them  hardly  appropriate 

*  Eugene  Biggins,  a  well-known  Baltimore  "  heeler,"  having  a  most 
fragrant  record  not  only  in  connection  with  the  politics  of  that  city,  but 
for  his  intimate  relations  with  its  gambling  dens  was  made  "Appointment 
Clerk  "  of  the  Treasury  Department  immediately  on  Mr.  Cleveland's  acces 
sion.  He  is  said  to  have  solicited  and  obtained  a  place  as  an  under  keeper 
in  Libby  Prison  during  the  war.  His  appointment  was  claimed  to  be  the 
especial  act  of  Mr.  Manning',  but  it  has  been  shrewdly  guessed  that  he  was 
found  valuable  in  transacting  certain  private  negotiations  in  which  the 
President  was  personally  interested  and  thereby  became  both  necessary  and 
dangerous  to  an  Executive  pledged  to  "  Kef  orm."  His  continuance  in  prac 
tical  control  of  the  lesser  patronage  of  the  Treasury  Department  is  not  only 
a  disgrace  to  the  administration,  but  a  direct  and  positive  insult  to  the 
decent  manhood  of  the  country. 

t  Among  the  early  appointments  of  Mr.  Cleveland  was  that  of  an 
engineer  of  the  famous  llebel  cruiser,  Alabama,  to  a  lucrative  place  under 
the  government. 


44  THE   VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

exponents  of  the  National  power  or  fitting  agents  of 
the  highest  executive  authority. 

Let  us  hope  that  those  who  fought  with  Jackson  at 
Chancellorsville  may  be  preferred  to  those  who  bullied 
and  insulted  the  unfortunate  victims  of  war's  reverses 
within  the  "  prison  bounds  "  of  the  Confederacy.  Let 
us  not  be  too  censorious,  however,  Blower.  Those 
who  rule  by  Caesars  leave  must  obey  his  nod  ;  and  we 
must  not  forget  that  even  the  worst  of  those  who 
upheld  the  power  of  the  Confederacy  and  did  its  will, 
whether  on  the  field  of  battle  or  in  the  prison-pen,  are 
worthier  of  preferment  than  that  spawn  of  Northern 
life,  the  aborted  monsters  whom  freedom  nourished 
only  to  hear  their  snarls  as  they  hung  upon  the  track 
of  her  armies,  and  jeered  the  sons  who  fell  in  her  de 
fense.  Better  the  meanest  of  those  who  served  the 
cause  of  treason  than  even  the  best  of  those  who  wished 
it  well  ~but  dared  not  serve  !  " 

MAY  2,  1885. 


"THE    PEESIDENT   VISITS    GETTYS- 
BUEG." 


was  a  headline  in  every  morning  paper  from 
J-  Maine  to  California  to-day,  Blower.  It  was  the 
first  thing  that  caught  my  eye  after  I  had  lighted  the 
fragrant  granules  in  your  bowl  and  folded  the  damp 
sheet  upon  the  desk  so  that  one  hand  might  hold  it — not 
so  easy  a  thing  for  the  Yeteran  to  do,  by  the  way,  as  any 
one  may  see  who  will  undertake  the  folding  of  one  of 
our  mammoth  dailies  with  a  single  hand.  Millions  of 
eyes  have  no  doubt  read  it  already  ;  others  will  note 
it  during  the  day,  and  before  the  week  is  ended  prac 
tically  the  whole  country  will  know  that  the  President 
"visited"  Gettysburg  on  Monday.  Very  many  will 
curiously  scan  the  brief  and  colorless  paragraph  which 
relates  what  the  President  did  not  do  and  did  not  say 
upon  this  visit  to  Gettysburg.  Some  no  doubt  will 
smile  and  some  may  sneer,  but  there  are  many, 
Blower,  who  will  read  the  pitiful  recital  as  we  did, 
through  the  mist  of  gathering  tears. 

Who  is  this  President,  Blower,  and  why  should  he 
visit  Gettysburg  ?  What  is  this  Gettysburg,  that  any 
one  should  care  to  climb  its  hills,  measure  its  green  slopes, 
guess  the  grade  of  its  declivities,  and  trace  the  lines  of 
its  escarped  crests  ?  Why  should  tears  dim  the  Yet 
eran' s  sight  as  he  reads  all  there  was  to  tell  of  the 

45 


46  THE   VETERAN   AND    HIS   PIPE. 

President's  visit — the  hints  of  what  he  saw  and  heard, 
the  full  story  of  what  he  said  and  did  \ 

I  can  well  imagine  one  of  the  children  who  some 
times  invade  this  sanctuary  consecrated  to  memories  of 
the  past,  asking  such  queries  in  wondering  tones,  for 
Gettysburg  is  fast  becoming  an  insignificant  fact  of  a 
past  which  we  are  taught  that  duty  requires  us  only  to 
forget.  To  them  the  President's  visit  to  this  historic 
amphitheater  means  no  more  than  if  he  had  gone  to 
Baltimore  or  tarried  for  a  day  in  the  little  town  made 
memorable  by  his  birth.  To  them  laughter  and  tears 
are  alike  inexplicable  as  a  result  of  the  perusal  of  this 
paragraph.  With  us,  Blower,  it  is  far  different.  Yes 
terday  and  to-day  have  rarely  been  brought  so  close 
together,  or  been  shown  in  such  vivid  contrast  as  by 
this  visit  of  the  President  to  Gettysburg. 

Who  is  the  President  who  yesterday  visited  Gettys 
burg?  He  is  the  executive  head  of  a  great  nation, 
whose  blazon  flaunts  the  proud  assertion  that  it  has 
welded  many  peoples  into  one  great  power — that  in 
its  unity  are  hidden  many  peaceful  and  harmonious 
constituents.  It  boasts  of  many  states  in  one  nation, 
many  peoples  in  one  country,  many  rulers  in  one  sov 
ereignty.  The  President  represents,  in  the  eyes  of  the 
world,  the  power  and  dignity  of  a  nation  builded 
upon  equality  of  rights  and  parity  of  power  among 
all  its  constituent  elements.  Rhode  Island  stands  side  by 
side  with  New  York  in  power  and  influence  in  the  na 
tional  councils  and  in  the  selection  of  the  representa 
tive  of  its  authority.  As  states — as  constituent  ele 
ments  of  the  whole — the  least  is  equal  to  the  greatest. 


THE    VETERAN   AND    HIS   PIPE.  47 

It  matters  not  how  weak  the  lesser  may  become  or 
how  potent  the  greater — how  narrow  the  limits  of  one 
or  how  broad  the  boundaries  of  another  may  be,  the 
justice  which  holds  with  even  hand  the  scales  upon  our 
nation's  arm,  doles  out  to  each,  one  equal  measure  of 
constituent  power.  So,  too,  among  the  people  of  the 
various  states  themselves,  the  national  power  is  in  like 
manner  distributed.  To  every  one  hundred  and  fifty- 
four  thousand  of  the  citizens  of  the  United  States,  in 
this  tenth  decade  of  organic  union,  is  given  one  voice  in 
the  national  council — one  aliquot  part  of  the  sovereign 
power.  To  each  one  of  these  citizens  of  the  republic, 
belongs  also  an  undivided  share  of  the  power  and 
privilege  devolving  upon  the  whole.  Well  may  we 
boast,  therefore,  that  our  nation  is  the  fruit  of  liberty 
and  equality — a  unity  arising  from  equally  endowed 
numbers.  E pluribus  unum — out  of  many  states  one 
state — out  of  many  wills  one  sovereign — out  of  many 
equal  rights  one  all-protecting  power.  The  President 
is  the  head  of  this  nation,  the  incarnation  of  its  author 
ity,  the  representative  of  its  sovereign  will.  He  is  our 
President,  Blower,  and  though  he  may  not  in  all  things 
represent  our  individual  will,  he  is  clothed  upon  with 
our  modicum  of  power,  exercises  the  authority  pri 
marily  vested  in  us,  and  is  charged  with  the  preserva 
tion  not  only  of  our  rights,  but  of  that  national  honor 
which  makes  our  share  in  the  whole  a  thing  of  price 
less  value  or  a  heritage  of  immeasurable  shame. 

I  take  it,  Blower,  that  this  power  of  which  the 
President  is,  for  the  time  being  the  trustee,  is  nothing 
less  than  that  "  freedom  and  the  right "  for  which  poor 


48  THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

Joe  so  willingly  rendered  up  his  life.  To  him  the  free-' 
dom  of  the  citizen  and  the  right  of  the  sovereign  were, 
in  their  last  analysis,  one  and  the  same  thing.  The 
right  was  but  the  basis  on  which  the  privilege  of  free 
dom  rested,  its  un trammeled  exercise  being  to  him  the 
very  essence  of  human  liberty.  By  the  forms  of  law 
one  man,  the  President,  is  made  the  representative  of 
this  freedom  and  the  trustee  of  this  universal  right,  as 
well  as  the  guardian  of  both.  If  all  those  whose  con 
joint  wills  make  up  the  national  sovereignty,  had  the 
privilege  of  free  and  voluntary  choice  in  his  selection, 
then  he  is  by  right,  as  well  as  form,  the  trustee  of  this 
sovereignty.  If  to  any  considerable  extent  the  free 
dom  of  individual  choice  was  by  any  means  debarred 
to  any  lawfully  entitled  to  exercise  the  same,  then  the 
right  on  which  the  privilege  of  every  citizen  is  based, 
has  been  invaded,  and  that  equity  which  no  informality 
can  defeat  and  no  lapse  of  time  debar,  stamps  his  selec 
tion  with  the  brand  of  fraud.  Be  this  as  it  may,  how 
ever,  for  the  time  being,  he  represent  us ;  he  is  our  de- 
facto  head ;  the  trustee  of  our  rights  and  the  represent 
ative  of  our  sovereignty.  His  acts  are  valid,  and  he 
binds  not  only  himself,  but  the  American  people,  by 
his  words  and  deeds.  Our  honor  is  in  his  keeping,  and 
he  has  power  to  cover  us  with  shame.  He  is  our  Presi 
dent,  Blower,  and  by  that  fact  entitled  to  something 
more  than  our  formal  obedience  and  regard. 

It  is  true  that  the  usurper  who  is  inducted  into 
office  with  all  the  forms  of  law  does  not  thereby  acquire 
title  to  the  throne.  The  oaths  which  Gloster  took  at 
Westminster  did  not  make  the  blood-stained  ruffian 


THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  49 

rightful  king.  Underneath  the  sign  and  seal  of  office, 
under  all  the  trappings  of  authority,  yet  remains  for 
ever  quick,  the  equity  which  reaches  to  the  root  of 
right.  It  is  charged — and  there  is  none  that  can  with 
reason  or  truth  deny — that  but  for  the  direct  or  indi 
rect  disfranchisement  of  voters  by  the  hundred 
thousand,  but  for  the  fact  that  thousands  upon  thou 
sands  of  citizens  whose  rights  were  purchased  with  the 
blood  of  heroes,  were  debarred  from  the  free  exercise 
of  those  rights,  or  their  ballots  when  cast  deprived  of 
due  effect,  this  man  who  bears  the  title  of  President 
to-day  would  never  have  been  asked  to  meet  with  vet 
erans  at  Gettysburg.  There  is  probably  not  any  man 
of  reasonable  intelligence  who  believes  that  if  the 
voters  of  certain  southern  states  had  been  allowed 
freely  and  without  fraud,  compulsion,  or  the  fear  of 
harm,  to  have  cast  their  ballots  as  they  chose,  and  had 
them  counted  as  they  desired,  the  verdict  in  at  least 
five  of  those  states  would  not  have  been  other  than  it 
was,  and  thereby  the  entire  results  of  the  national 
election  have  been  reversed.  ~No  one  can  question  this 
who  will  study  for  a  moment  the  statistics  of  popula 
tion,  the  returns  of  the  election,  the  facts  of  the  recent 
past  and  the  continuous  and  reiterated  assertion  on  the 
part  of  the  whites  of  those  states  of  their  right  and 
determination  to  rule,  regardless  of  the  will  or  right  of 
their  colored  fellow-citizens,  or  of  the  whites  who  were 
politically  affiliated  with  them. 

So  far  as  the  right  is  concerned,  Blower,  the 
President,  who  went  to  Gettysburg  yesterday,  is  a 
usurper.  He  represents  the  National  power  only 


50  THE   VETEEAN   AND   HIS   PIPE. 

because  some  thousands  of  her  constituent  sover 
eigns  were  deprived  of  their  freedom — of  their  right 
to  rule.  Such  wrong  touches  every  other  man's  right. 
ISTot  only  is  every  citizen  entitled  to  exercise  his 
own  aliquot  part  of  the  national  power,  but  he  has  a 
right  to  demand—  nay,  his  own  right  may  be  made  null  if 
he  does  not  demand  and  secure — for  every  other  citizen 
the  same  opportunity.  If  fraud  or  violence  is  to  be 
justified  by  the  result,  if  the  forms  of  law  alone  are 
necessary  to  lawful  sovereignty,  then  any  conspiracy 
which  shall  direct  its  efforts  toward  vitiating  the  ballot 
or  corrupting  the  results,  may  thereby  rightfully  estab 
lish  itself  in  power,  and  continue  indefinitely  in  control 
of  the  government.  Nay,  Blower,  it  is  not,  and  it 
never  can  be,  true  that  the  spurious  vote,  the  cor 
rupted  ballot,  the  debased  verdict  of  a  people,  can  con 
stitute  any  better  title  to  authority  than  the  violent 
usurpation  of  a  crown,  or  the  enforced  assent  of  Lords 
and  Commons.  The  oath  of  office  taken  on  the  east 
porch  of  the  Capitol,  in  full  view  of  applauding  thou 
sands,  no  more  confers  the  right  to  exercise  the  execu 
tive  functions  of  the  government  than  the  assumption 
of  the  crown  of  England  in  Westminster  Hall  by  force 
of  arms,  establishes  the  rightful  succession  to  the 
throne  of  Britain.  "  Freedom  and  the  right "  cannot 
thus  easily  be  thwarted.  The  sovereign's  right  cannot 
be  divested  by  the  abuse  of  legal  forms.  The  Presi 
dent  who  owes  his  election  to  fraud  may  sit  undis 
turbed  in  the  seat  of  power,  but  he  is  none  the  less  a 
usurper  whose  rule  is  based  on  the  ravished  rights — 


THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  51 

not  of  a  competitor — but  of  many  thousands  of  his 
fellows,  the  collective  sovereigns  of  the  republic. 

I  believe  these  things,  Blower.  I  do  not  doubt  that 
this  man  wearing  the  title  and  exercising  the  preroga 
tives  of  the  President  does  so  by  virtue  of  a  violent, 
unlawful  and  premeditated  disregard  of  the  sovereign 
rights  of  a  majority  of  the  voters  of  at  least  five  states 
of  the  Union,  and  a  consequent  debasement  and  defi 
ance  of  the  sovereign  right  of  every  other  citizen  of 
the  republic.  His  rule  is  not  "  of  the  people  nor  by  the 
people,"  yet  let  us  pray  God  that  it  be  "  for  the  people." 

The  right  of  the  usuper,  the  just  and  reasonable 
privilege  of  the  de  facto  sovereign  is,  that  he  shall  be 
recognized  and  supported  by  all  good  subjects  of  the 
realm,  save  only  when  he  comes  in  conflict  with  rightful 
authority.  This  rule  is  based  upon  the  public  good, 
which  can  only  be  subserved  by  the  recognition  of 
some  dominant  authority.  It  is  analogous  to  the  rule 
of  private  right  which  vests  in  the  possessor  a  title 
good  against  all  the  world,  saving  only  the  owner. 
The  President  who  went  to  Gettysburg  yesterday  is 
one  who,  with  all  the  forms  of  law,  but  with  a  fraudu 
lent  title,  entered  upon  a  demesne  of  which  he  is  enti 
tled  to  hold  possession  until  he  is  ousted  by  one,  not 
merely  armed  with  formal  power,  but  having  also 
indubitable  title. 

As  good  citizens,  therefore,  as  those  who  desire  the 
welfare  of  our  land,  and  believe  to-day  as  earnestly  as 
we  did  yesterday,  in  "  the  freedom  and  the  right "  for 
which  we  fought,  and  for  which  so  many  of  our  com 
rades  fell,  it  behooves  us  heartily  and  earnestly  to 


52  THE   VETERAN  AND   HIS   PIPE. 

desire — not  the  success  of  this  administration,  whereby 
wrong  should  triumph  and  evil  be  established — not  the 
perpetuation  of  wrongful  authority  in  derogation  of 
that  freedom  which  poor  Joe  died  to  establish — but 
that  the  public  weal  may  be  subserved,  and  the  years 
of  ravished  power  be  made  a  fruitful  fallow  wherein 
the  right  shall  grow  deep-rooted  for  to-morrow's  har 
vest. 

Why  should  this  man  go  to  Gettysburg  ?  Because 
there  was  told  most  forcibly  the  lesson  he  most  needs 
to  learn.  Because  there,  upon  its  eighty-seventh  birth 
day,  the  nation  reasserted  the  immortal  principle  which 
made  its  origin  significant  and  has  rendered  its  life 
glorious.  Because  fifteen  thousand  heroes  who  gave 
their  lives  for  "freedom  and  the  right,"  sealing  with 
their  blood  the  initial  declaration  of  our  national  exist 
ence,  sleep  peacefully  upon  the  battle-scarred  crest. 
Because  here  the  contest  waxed  hottest  between  those 
who  stood  for  "  freedom  and  the  right "  and  a  power 
based  on  the  denial  of  a  people's  right  as  its  corner 
stone.  Because  here  the  arrogant  claim  of  the  white 
man  to  the  dominion  of  the  south,  which  is  all  that  the 
President  rightfully  represents  to-day,  received  its  first 
and  most  terrible  rebuke ! 

Why  should  he  go  to  Gettysburg?  Because  that 
day  of  days  which  its  green  slopes  will  forever  com 
memorate  should  never  be  forgotten !  Because  every 
patriot's  love  for  "freedom  and  the  right"  should  be 
strengthened  and  refined  by  recalling  those  July  days 
when  the  wheat-clad  hills  lost  their  golden  gleam  and 
took  instead  the  crimson  hue  of  patriots'  blood! 


THE   VETERAN   AND    HIS   PIPE.  53 

Because  here  the  most  illustrious  of  all  his  predecessors 
gave  utterance  to  the  grandest  burst  of  patriotic 
eloquence  that  ever  fell  from  human  lips  —  an  effort  of 
genius  as  immortal  and  resplendent  as  the  devotion  it 
commemorates.  Because  that  peerless  patriot  of  our 
history,  that  grandest  hero  of  an  heroic  age,  enjoined 
all  those  to  whom  his  words  might  come,  "  from  these 
honored  dead  to  take  increased  devotion  to  the  cause 
for  which  they  died."  Because  these  hills  are  yet  red 
olent  with  his  presence,  whose  last  solemn  words  to  his 
countrymen  were  of  athe  mystic  cords,  of  memory 
stretching  from  every  battlefield  and  patriot  grave." 
Because  Gettysburg  marks  the  climax  of  National 
peril  and  Confederate  hope.  Because  it  testifies  forever 
of  the  most  glorious  anniversary  that  ever  marked  a 
nation's  growth,  of  that  eighty-seventh  birthday  which 
saw  a  shattered  enemy  beaten  back  from  these  ensan 
guined  slopes,  the  imperiled  capital  relieved,  and  the  trust 
of  him  who  spoke  freedom  to  the  slave  and  appealed  to 
the  God  of  battles  in  their  behalf,  marvelously  justified. 
The  day  that  saw  our  banner  everywhere  victorious  — 
Lee  forced  back  to  the  Potomac  ;  Bragg  fleeing  before 
our  exulting  legions ;  while  in  the  self-same  hour  came 
up  from  the  sweltering  Southland  the  tidings  of  Yicks- 
burg  prostrate  at  the  feet  of  Grant !  A  great  army 
made  to  pass  under  the  yoke !  The  stars  and  stripes 
waving  over  the  Southern  Gibraltar !  The  Mississippi 
flowing  "  unvexed  to  the  sea ! " 

Truly  where  such  lessons  of  liberty  may  be  learned 
a  President  who  uses  the  power  of  his  high  office  to 
manifest  his  personal  indorsement  of,  and  sympathy 


54  THE   VETERAN   AND    HIS    PIPE. 

with,  those  who,  both  in  theory  and  practice,  deny  and 
subvert  the  rights  of  man,  ought  surely  to  go  and  con 
them  carefully ! 

Why  should  Grover  Cleveland  visit  Gettysburg? 
Because  the  hero-prophet  and  noblest  martyr  of  lib 
erty,  Abraham  Lincoln,  in  words  of  undying  eloquence, 
declared  it  to  be  holy  ground,  dedicated  to  liberty  by 
the  blood  of  the  free,  so  that  by  its  touch  the  patriot 
should  f orevermore  be  consecrated  anew  to  the  struggle 
for  "freedom  and  the  right,"  and  be  irresistibly  im 
pelled  by  the  noble  example  it  commemorates  "  once 
more  highly  to  resolve  that  a  government  of  the  people 
and  by  the  people"  as  well  as  "for  the  people,  shall  npt 
perish  from  the  earth." 

Ah,  Blower,  I  did  hope  that  the  President's  first 
sight  of  a  battle-field,  even  though  clad,  as  it  must  have 
been,  in  the  soft  verdure  of  spring  time,  resting  calmly 
in  the  sunshine  of  peace,  yet  rich  with  historic  monu 
ments,  populous  with  scarred  veterans,  and  teeming 
with  patriotic  memories,  might  have  overcome  even 
his  indifference  to  the  cause  which  triumphed  there, 
broken  down  the  barriers  of  his  self-devotion  and 
given  the  world  one  burst  of  patriotic  aspiration  from 
his  lips! 

"Why  did  I  weep  ?  It  is  well  the  ashes  in  thy 
scarred  and  blackened  bowl  have  grown  dull  and  cold 
while  I  have  talked  of  these  old  days — the  days  when 
you  first  rested  on  my  heart  in  the  bivouac  above  the 
bayou — of  the  triumphs  which  we  shared,  but  for 
which  Joe  died.  Let  me  read  a  little  of  that  quarter 
of  a  column,  which  is  enough,  and  more  than  enough, 


THE   VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  55 

to  detail  the  visit  of  the  nation's  executive  head  to  the 
most  notable  and  glorious  of  the  Nation's  battle-fields : 

"  The  President  made  it  a  condition  of  his  attendance 
that  he  should  not  he  asked  to  speak." 

Why  did  he  appeal  to  silence  1  Did  a  past,  barren 
of  patriotic  ardor,  paralyze  his  tongue,  or  did  his  pres 
ent  honors,  based  upon  the  same  disregard  of  human 
right  on  which  the  Confederacy  rested  its  appeal  to 
arms,  make  him  court  the  refuge  of  the  wary  and 
shield  of  the  malf easor  ? 

"  The  President  was  driven  from  point  to  point  about 
the  field)  and  the  movements  of  the  three  historic  days 
fully  explained  to  him.  lie  made  no  remarks,  and 
asked  no  questions." 

This  was  the  President  of  the  United  States, 
Blower,  upon  the  field  which  marked  the  turning  of 
the  tide  that  swept  rebellion  from  the  land.  '"  He 
made  no  remarks."  Can  it  be  he  had  no  thoughts, 
either,  Blower?  Did  they  show  him  where  Stannard's 
terribly  smitten  lines  were  drawn,  and  tell  him  how 
the  raw  Green  Mountain  boys,  hardly  a  month  from 
their  fair  New  England  homes,  met  the  scath  of  shot 
and  shell  as  if  war  had  been  their  boyhood's  pastime  ? 
If  they  did,  Blower,  do  you  suppose  he  remembered 
how  "  within  a  month — a  little  month,"  he  had  insulted 
every  one  of  those  Yermonters,  sleeping  in  the  bloody 
graves  upon  the  crest  their  piled-up  corpses  held  at 
last,  by  sending  as  the  nation's  representative  to  the 
Court  of  St.  James  the  one  man  in  all  that  green- 
hilled,  liberty-loving  state,  who  dared  to  mock  at  their 
heroism  and  sneer  at  the  patient,  sad-faced  leader  who 


56  THE   VETEEAN   AND   HIS   PIPE. 

staked  all  for  "  freedom  and  the  right,"  and  in  humble 
self-forgetfulness  ascribed  all  the  glory  to  those  who 
fought  and  to  whose  heroism  he  appealed  for  aid? 
Did  he  think  what  this  "  dear  dead  dust  on  freedom's 
proudest  shrine  "  would  say  could  it  but  make  the  soft 
May  wind  its  servitor  ?  Did  he  think  what  these  dead 
whom  Lincoln  so  devoutly  honored,  would  say  if  they 
but  knew  that  one  of  his  successors  had  preferred  the 
worst  of  their  native  state's  few  malcontents  above 
the  whole  host  of  its  heroes — their  surviving  com 
rades  ? 

Did  they  show  him  where  Lawton's  Georgians 
fought,  and  did  he  remember  the  words  which  this 
man — another  of  those  he  has  just  chosen  to  represent 
the  nation  abroad — had  lately  addressed  to  himself  ? — 
"  I  have  nothing  to  repent  of,  or  apologize  for,  in  con 
nection  with  the  Confederate  cause."  Ah,  if  he  had 
repented,  how  gladly  would  the  nation  forgive  !  But 
what  must  be  the  President's  reflections  who  among- 

o 

the  dead  of  Gettysburg  reflected  that  he  had  selected 
as  the  recipient  of  her  highest  honors,  the  plenary  de 
positary  of  her  power  and  dignity,  one  who  yet  boasts 
that  he  neither  repents  having  sought  to  destroy  the 
Nation's  life  nor  regrets  the  slaughter  which  resulted 
from  this  attempt  to  overthrow  "freedom  and  the 
right "  and  establish  slavery  and  the  wrong.  It  is  not 
the  fact  that  he  was  a  rebel — not  the  fact  that  he  was 
a  valorous  enemy — that  makes  him  unfit  for  such  pre 
ferment  now,  but  the  fact  that  he  still  glories  in  what 
he  did,  and  repents  not  of  what  he  would  have  done. 
But  the  worst  is  yet  to  come,  Blower.  The  report 


THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  57 

which  was  heralded  to  the  land  this  morning  declares 
that 

"  The  President  seemed  indifferent  and  somewhat 
bored  !  " 

This  was  our  President,  Blower,  upon  the  greatest 
battle-field  of  a  four  years'  war !  The  president  was 
"bored"  by  the  very  sight  of  their  graves  but  for 
whose  heroism  the  nation  which  he  now  rules  would 
have  been  swept  from  the  face  of  the  earth !  Is  it  any 
wonder  that  I  wept  as  I  read. 

MAY  12,  1885. 


OUB  MAY  DATS. 


THE  sweet  May  days  have  come  again,  Blower, 
and  the  fragrance  of  the  apple-blossoms  is  on  the 
morning  air.  The  Veteran's  heart  is  tender,  for  the 
season  brings  up  memories  laden  with  mingled  joy  and 
woe.  His  thoughts  will  go  back  to  his  own  May — the 
balmiest  season  of  young  life.  Again  he  walks  in  the 
brooding,  vernal  noontide  beneath  the  dear  old  or 
chard's  overhanging  boughs.  The  ancient  trees  that 
had  stood  in  serried  ranks  like  gray-clad  soldiers,  stub 
bornly  repulsing  winter's  fierce  assaults  for  half  a  hun 
dred  years,  had  donned  the  garments  of  recurrent 
victory,  and  every  scraggly  head  was  hidden  by  an 
alabaster  crown  of  gladness,  just  tinged  with  the  faint 
blush  which  summer's  ardor  gives  the  opening  flower. 
The  soft,  green  leaves  that  creep  between  the  crowding 
blossoms  only  serve  to  enhance  their  loveliness,  and 
make  the  snowy  windrows  that  stretch  down  the 
southward  trending  slope,  seem  more  dense  and  bil 
lowy  when  viewed  from  without.  Under  the  trees  the 
earth  is  carpeted  with  soft,  spring  verdure  flecked  with 
fallen  petals.  The  sunshine  comes  but  dimly  through 
the  screen  of  flowers  and  leaves.  The  bees  hum 
drowsily  about  in  the  translucent  waves  of  white  and 
green.  The  birds  twitter  peacefully,  or  sing  fervidly, 
flashing  in  and  out  among  the  tender  filigree  of  the 
leafy  arches.  The  upgrown  hedgerows  by  the  gray 

58 


THE   VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  59 

old  wall  shut  out  the  world.  The  fragrant  canopy 
above  excludes  the  sky  save  only  where  the  azure 
shows  through  the  silver-bordered  rifts,  or  where  the 
sun  peeps  through  the  wind-stirred  leaves  to  note  the 
gambols  of  the  birds  or  watch  the  wanderings  of  the 
lovers  underneath.  Had  ever  love  so  fair  a  bower  ? 
Cushioned  and  carpeted  with  verdure !  Kadiant  with 
light  as  warm  and  tender  as  that  which  fills  the 
pearly  shell  seen  through  the  emerald  wave !  Over 
hung  with  a  waving  canopy  upborne  by  pillars  gnarled 
and  gray,  whose  regularity  made  the  silence  seem  the 
work  of  grimly  guarded  necromants!  Long,  shaded 
avenues,  bordered  ~by  snug  nooks,  where  the  bowed- 
down  branches  almost  met  the  grass,  and  offered  that 
half -seclusion  in  which  coy  love  forever  seeks  to  hide 
the  fond  delights  that  need  not  to  be  hidden !  It  was 
nature's  nuptial  bower  bedecked  for  the  union  of  fond 
hearts ! 

Was  ever  soldier's  lot  so  sweet !  We  were  fresh 
from  the  battle-field,  Blower,  crowned  with  the  gar 
lands  of  victory,  and  bearing  welcome  trophies.  The 
banners  which  our  comrades  had  wrested  from  the  foe 
had  been  intrusted  to  our  hands  for  presentation  to 
the  authorities  of  our  state.  We  had  performed  this 
duty.  Bronzed  and  rugged,  and  not  wholly  unscathed 
by  the  hot  breath  of  war,  we  had  stood  upon  the  his 
toric  portico,  told  in  a  few  simple  words  the  story  of 
our  comrades'  heroism,  and  delivered  into  the  hands  of 
the  chief  magistrate  of  the  commonwealth  the  memen 
toes  of  their  valor.  We  had  listened  to  eloquent  mes 
sages  of  congratulation  which  we  were  charged  to  bear 


60  THE    VETEEAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

back  to  them,  and  our  brown  cheeks  had  burned  all 
the  ruddier  because  we  knew  the  eye  of  love  beheld 
our  triumph.  But  when  it  was  all  over,  when  the  huz 
zas  of  the  exultant  multitude  were  hushed ;  when  the 
captured  banners  were  hung  upon  the  wall,  where  they 
now  molder  unheeded  into  dust ;  when  to  pleasing 
duty  a  pleasanter  respite  succeeded ;  when  I  fled  from 
the  crowded  city  and  love  welcomed  me  to  this  sweet 
fane  upon  the  quiet  hillside,  then  indeed  the  soldier's 
cup  of  joy  was  full.  Under  the  scented  canopy  we 
wandered  hour  by  hour.  The  sunlight  and  the  shadow 
fought  with  trembling  eagerness  for  mastery.  Love's 
loitering  footsteps  bent  the  springing  spires  and  pressed 
fresh  fragrance  from  the  fallen  petals.  The  tresses 
which  the  sunlight  kissed  to  golden  brown  were  pOAV- 
dered  with  white  flakes  that  the  spring  breezes  loosened 
from  their  cups.  From  without  came  the  sounds  of 
peace  and  home — the  cattle  lowing  in  the  fields,  the 
lambs  bleating  on  distant  hillsides,  the  plowmen  whist 
ling  in  the  furrow.  The  incense  rising  from  your 
bowl,  old  friend,  mingled  with  the  aroma  that  freight 
ed  the  airs  of  this  Eden.  The  cushioned  turf  was  the 
soldier's  couch.  Soft  eyes  showed  the  glint  of  tears  as 
he  told  of  "  war's  alarms." 

Ah,  Blower,  how  bright  the  vision  yet  of  the  fair 
form  robed  in  spotless  white  which  leaned  against  a 
great  gray  trunk,  her  head  crowned  with  a  diadem  of 
pink  and  white,  her  eyes  full  of  a  divine  pity,  while  her 
hands  scattered  in  trembling  haste  the  ravished  treas 
ures  of  the  overburdened  boughs.  Was  it  any  wonder, 
Blower,  that  my  lips  forgot  the  tale  of  war  and  faltered 


THE   VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  61 

forth  the  tale  of  love  ?  Is  it  any  wonder  that  we  can 
not  forget  ?  How  our  hearts  overleap  the  intervening 
years !  The  mists  are  gathering  in  the  valleys,  but  the 
heights  are  bathed  in  eternal  sunlight.  The  years  that 
lie  between  may  be  forgotten,  but  there  are  pictures 
in  the  past  that  will  never  grow  dim. 

To-day,  when  the  children,  fresh  from  their  first 
flower-gathering  holiday,  burst  into  our  dingy  den, 
laden  with  white,  softly  blushing  blooms,  to  bring  the 
Veteran  congratulations,  his  eyes  were  blinded  to  their 
pretty  faces  and  his  ears  were  deaf  to  their  kindly  prat 
tle.  He  stood  once  more  upon  the  sunlit  hillside,  with 
the  bees  and  birds  and  flowers  above,  the  springing 
clover  underneath,  and  love  and  peace  spread  over  all, 
while  in  the  background  war  stood  grim  and  terrible. 
God  bless  their  sweet,  bright  faces  and  happy  unwrung 
hearts !  They  called  me  back  into  the  present,  Blower, 
with  questions  which  I  could  not  answer  because  of  the 
dear,  dead  faces  that  rose  upon  my  sight  and  sealed 
my  lips  with  tender  awe.  I  dreaded  their  curious  ques 
tionings.  Their  wondering  eyes  had  noted  already 
the  dents  in  the  crossed  sabers,  the  heavy  pistols,  with 
their  muzzles  holster-worn  upon  one  side,  grim  old  com 
panions  of  inarch  and  bivouac.  They  even  spied  your 
curious  case  and  asked  the  story  of  that  comrade  who 
wrought  so  feebly  many  weary  days  to  testify  thereby 
his  love.  I  feared  lest  they  might  see  the  worn  and 
faded  pouch  that  hangs  beside  it  on  the  polished  spikes 
that  once  adorned  the  antlered  monarch's  head,  and  ask 
its  story,  too.  I  dreaded  lest  their  eyes  should  spy  a 
trace  of  the  device  once  wrought  upon  its  surface  and 


62  THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

ask  me  what  it  was.  It  may  be  invisible  to  others, 
but  to  me  it  is  still  as  clear  and  bright  as  when  my  eyes 
first  rested  on  the  soft  chenille  and  read  the  words, 
"Alice  to  John." 

It  was  the  first  offering  of  that  sweet  May-day  love. 
How  I  laughed  at  the  contrasted  names,  the  one 
wrought  in  bright  and  slender  filaments  and  the  other 
done  in  colors  dark  and  strong.  How  I  sounded  the 
syllables — of  the  one  soft  and  sweet  as  the  murmur 
of  sinless  souls  by  the  river  of  life ;  of  the  other 
abrupt  and  harsh,  as  if  all  the  possible  mishaps 
of  life  were  not  enough  of  ill  for  the  rugged  uncouth- 
ness  to  which  it  was  so  fittingly  applied.  I  have  always 
wondered,  Blower,  how  "He  who  walked  in  Gallilee" 
could  have  chosen  as  His  "  beloved  "  disciple  one  whose 
name  was  John.  So  too  I  wonder — I  have  always 
wondered — why  that  gentle  spirit —  But  we  must 
not  think  of  her,  Blower.  I  drove  the  children  away 
with  harsh  tones  and  scowling  looks  to-day  when  they 
pointed  their  chubby  fingers  at  my  treasure — my  one 
memento  of  that  matchless  May.  God  knows  I  would 
not  darken  for  one  moment  the  sunshine  of  their  young 
lives — but — but — I  can  not  tell  them  of  our  May  and 
the  memories  the  apple-blossoms  bring. 

It  was  our  May,  Blower.  The  years  that  since  have 
come  have  borne  us  ever  farther  and  farther  away  from 
the  vernal  sweetness  of  that  time.  The  boys  who 
crowed  and  cackled  in  their  mother's  arms,  while  we 
lay  under  the  scarred  oaks  waiting  the  onset,  in  those 
memorable  days  that  followed  hard  upon  the  halcyon 
hours  of  love — those  boys  are  men  to-day.  Their  votes 


THE   VETEKAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  63 

already  suffice  to  choose  the  nation's  rulers,  and  their 
voices  will  soon  sway  the  counsels  of  the  nation. 

We  were  at  the  front  then.  Blower,  not  merely  in 
a  military  sense,  but  in  the  front  rank  of  the  world- 
life  of  that  day.  It  was  a  marvelous  day,  too,  lighted 
with  the  glare  of  battle  and  filled  with  the  fragrance 
of  self-sacrifice  and  devotion.  Was  it  greater,  was  it 
better  than  the  life  of  to-day?  Ah,  who  shall  measure 
them  ?  Who  shall  compare  the  generation  cradled 
amid  war's  alarms  with  those  who  fought  and  died— 
or  still  more  difficult  and  delicate  a  task,  those  who 
fought  and  lived  ? 

We  are  not  the  only  ones,  Blower,  who  feel  that  the 
rush  of  years  has  borne  us  away  from  the  time  that 
was  our  own.  The  years  have  not  been  so  maiw,  but 
the  days  have  been  so  big  with  destiny  and  the  life 
which  has  come  on,  so  different  from  that  which  went 
before,  that  the  gulf  between  seems  almost  limitless. 
Men  in  the  prime  of  life  are  balancing  up  their  books 
as  if  age  were  at  the  threshold.  Those  who  were  not 
screened  by  the  happy  fact  of  insignificance,  as  we 
were,  Blower,  are  now  seeking,  vainly  enough,  to 
amend  the  record  of  their  acts  or  turn  public  attention 
away  from  what  they  did  not  do.  Those  who  erred 
bewail  the  cruel  fate  that  will  not  let  the  memory  of 
evil  die,  and  those  who  failed  to  uphold  the  right, 
sneer  at  the  instinct  which  demands  the  evidence  of 
patriotic  impulse  in  that  hour  of  peril,  as  the  guarantee 
of  patriotic  purpose  in  this  halcyon  day  of  peace. 
They  stoutly  maintain  that  yesterday,  with  all  its 
good  and  evil,  must  be  forgotten.  That  "  freedon  and 


64:  THE   VETEEAN   AND   HIS   PIPE. 

the  right"  are  things  of  yesterday  alone,  and  touch 
not  any  life  to-day.  Wrong-doing,  many  would  have 
us  believe,  was  absolved  by  ill-success;  treason  cured 
by  defeat,  and  the  armed  champions  of  slavery  trans 
formed  into  knightly  defenders  of  rights  tliey  still 
deny. 

It  is  a  day  of  curious  contrasts,  Blower.  The 
leaders  of  the  revolt  are  anxious  only  to  excuse  their 
ill-success.  One*  who  laid  down  the  sword  which  the 
nation  had  intrusted  him  for  its  defense,  and  spurned 
the  honors  which  the  country  had  bestowed  upon  him, 
whines  now  for  sympathy  because  his  treason  was  not 
richly  enough  rewarded,  and  while  yet  boasting  the 
righteousness  of  the  cause  he  sacrificed  a  soldier's 
honor  to  serve,  is  made  the  representative  of  a  grateful 
nation's  power  and  preferred  over  thousands  who 
fought  to  save  her  from  destruction.  The  world  sees 
and  wonders.  "  To  err  is  human  ;  to  forgive,  divine," 
is  so  old  an  adage  that  mankind  has  learned  to  appre 
ciate  at  length  its  beauty  and  its  truth.  But  what 
shall  be  said  of  the  new  political  creed  which  demands 
reward  but  spurns  pardon  ;  which  boasts  of  evil-doing, 
scorns  the  thought  of  repentance,  yet  imperiously 
clamors  for  oblivion,  and  insists  that  courage,  ability 
and  zeal  in  accomplishing  evil  yet  unrepented  of,  shall 
be  accounted  equally  meritorious  with  the  heroic  main 
tenance  of  right  ? 

The  sunlight  of  our  May   has  grown  very  dim, 


*An  article  By  Gen.  Joseph  E.  Johnston,  (C.  S.  A.)  regretfully  explain 
ing  the  cause  of  Confederate  failure  after  the  first  battle  of  Bull  Run,  was 
queerly  contemporaneous  in  its  appearance  with  his  appointment  to  his 
present  lucrative  position  in  connection  with  the  Pacific  Hail  ways. 


THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  65 

Blower.  The  gleam  of  bayonets  which  marked  'the 
dividing  line  between  right  and  wrong  has  been  lost 
in  the  gloom  that  overhangs  a  million  graves.  In  our 
anxiety  to  manifest  our  charity  for  those  who  sought 
to  destroy,  we  have  insulted  the  dead  who  died  for  us 
by  ignoring  that  for  which  they  fought.  We  have 
counted  treason  and  patriotism  synonymous  in  signifi 
cance  and  equal  in  merit.  ISTot  many  months  ago,  one 
stood  under  the  flag  unfurled  above  the  Senate  cham 
ber,  and  in  words  of  boastful  truculence  declared  that  in 
his  hearing  no  man  should  attach  the  name  of  "  traitor  " 
to  the  executive  head  of  the  Confederacy  without  swift 
rebuke.  Instead  of  being  a  rebel,  he  declared  that  the 
Confederate  ex-President  was  a  patriot  whom  history 
would  justify,  and  whom  all  the  world  would  honor. 
He  knew,  and  the  world  knows,  that  the  man  he  so 
exultantly  eulogized  had  used  his  position  and  influ 
ence  as  a  Senator  of  the  United  States,  not  only  to 
encourage  and  organize  armed  resistance  and  defiance 
to  national  power,  but  at  the  last  minute  had  with 
drawn  from  her  councils  to  assume  the  leadership  of  a 
revolt,  not  aiming  merely  at  a  divided  sovereignty;  but 
declaring  itself  the  irreconcilable  opponent  of  "the 
fundamentally  wrong  assumption  of  equality  "  on  which 
our  government  is  founded,  and  announcing  as  its  cor 
ner-stone  "the  great  truth  that  the  negro  is  not  equal 
to  the  white  man,  and  that  subordination  to  the  supe 
rior  race  is  his  natural  and  normal  condition."  For 
this  act  and  the  blood  spilled  in  the  conflict,  which  he 
spared  no  pains  to  promote,  he  has  never  expressed 
one  syllable  of  regret  nor  uttered  one  word  of  sorrow. 
5 


DO  THE    VETERAN   AND    HIS    PIPE. 

He  has  boasted  rather  of  the  blood  which  stains  his 
hands,  declaring  it  to  have  been  shed  in  a  holy  cause. 
This  is  the  man  whom  a  Senator  of  the  United  States 
defied  the  world  to  stigmatize  as  a  traitor!  This  the 
definition  which  a  Senator  of  the  United  States  applies 
to  patriotism ! 

But  this  is  not  all.  The  Senator*  himself  was  the 
willing  representative  of  open  and  confessed  wrong. 
He  stood  within  the  Senate  chamber,  at  that  very  mo 
ment,  an  acknowledged  exponent  of  the  principle  on 
which  the  Confederacy  stood  yesterday — tlie  subordi 
nation  of  the  black  race  to  the  white — the  utter  disre 
gard  of  human  rights  as  an  attribute  of  dusky-hued 
humanity.  Only  by  flagrant  and  outrageous  violation 
of  national  law  and  open  defiance  of  the  fundamental 
principle  on  which  the  government  is  founded  could 
he  have  worn  the  robe  of  the  Senator.  Nay,  worse 
even  than  that,  his  credentials  as  such  might  fitly  have 
been  written  in  the  blood  of  free  citizens  of  the  Re 
public,  slain  while  battling  bravely  for  the  rights  of 
the  weak  and  poor — rights  which  the  Nation  in  the 
glorious  exaltation  of  our  May  had  bestowed  with  un 
bounded  self -laudation  and  which  the  trustful  recipients 
foolishly  supposed  the  shadow  of  the  flag  would  for 
ever  protect.  He  stood  in  the  Senate  for  usurpation, 
violence,  blood  and  fraud — for  the  right  of  one  man  to 


*IIon  L.  Q.  C.  Lamar,  late  a  Colonel  in  the  Confederate  army ;  Senator  of 
the  United  States,  by  the  grace  of  "Ritie  Clubs"  and  the  "  Mississippi  Plan," 
until  March  fourth,  1885,  and  since  that  time  Secretary  of  the  Interior,  by 
virtue  of  appointment  of  Grover  Cleveland,  President.  Since  the  publica 
tion  of  the  first  edition  of  this  work,  Mr.  Lamar  has  been  made  au  Associate 
Justice  of  the  United  States. 


THE   VETEKAN   AND    HIS    PIPE.  67 

control  another — for  slavery  in  defiance  of  law — even 
as  the  Confederacy  had  stood  upon  the  field  of  battle 
for  slavery  sanctioned  by  statutory  form. 

The  nation  saw  and  knew  all  this,  but  dared  not 
protest  lest  it  should  be  accused  of  having  compassion 
for  the  weak  rather  than  charity  for  the  strong.  But 
the  tragedy  was  not  complete  until  the  nation,  long 
deaf  to  the  holiest  pledges  which  a  free  people  can  give 
in  vindication  of  their  freedom,  had  bestowed  on 
usurpation  and  outrage  the  seal  of  its  approval.  That 
time  has  come.  The  chosen  representative  of  the  life 
and  thought  of  to-day — the  executive  head  of  the  na 
tion — made  such  by  the  fraudulent  repression  of  rights 
bestowed  in  fulfillment  of  vows  to  the  Most  High  and 
sealed  by  the  blood  of  thousands,  freely  shed  in  the 
golden  moments  of  our  May — for  that  freedom  which 
is  the  essence  of  all  right,  this  man,  Blower,  in  the  exer 
cise  of  this  usurped  power,  constituted  this  very  Senator 
who  yet  boasted  of  treason,  and  stood  as  the  confessed 
exponent  of  violated  right,  one  of  the  chief  coadjutors  of 
his  power,  an  exponent  of  his  will  and  representative 
of  his  authority  !  Is  it  any  wonder,  Blower,  that  one 
of  the  first  acts  of  such  an  one,  through  whose  advance 
ment  usurpation,  violence,  and  fraud  had  been  not 
merely  condoned  but  distinctly  and  unmistakably  ap 
proved,  should  be  to  put  the  flag  of  the  nation  at  half- 
mast  upon  the  public  building  under  his  control,  in 
honor  of  one  who  had  laid  down  the  duties  of  his  high 
office  in  order  to  become  the  inciter  of  unlawful  vio 
lence  in  an  enemy's  country — the  self-confessed  em 
ployer  and  rewarder  of  assassins  and  incendiaries — a 


68  THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE. 

man  whose  only  objection  to  a  proposal  for  the  destruc 
tion  of  a  great  city  by  the  stealthy  introduction  of 
Greek  fire  by  incendiaries  animated  by  greed  and  love 
for  plunder  was  that  it  was  not  a  sufficiently  certain 
agent  of  wholesale  destruction ! 

Truly,  Blower,  to-day  is  far  enough  from  our  victo 
rious  May !  It  is  well  to  leave  the  captured  flags  to 
rot,  or,  better  still,  to  doom  them  to  swifter  destruc 
tion,  lest  they  soon  become  reproachful  badges  of  our 
shame !  It  is  said,  Blower,  that  this  man,  the  head  of 
the  Department  of  the  Interior,  is  a  cultured,  amiable 
Christian  gentleman.  He  is  said  to  be  so  fond  of  clas 
sical  lore  that  he  aspires  to  give  a  new  and  better  Eng 
lish  dress  to  those  Theban  odes  in  which  the  wisdom 
and  patriotism  of  the  ancients  were  enshrined.  Be 
cause  of  these  gentle  qualities,  we  are  told  that  it  is 
little  less  than  an  outrage  to  impute  to  him  anything  but 
the  most  delicate  and  chivalrous  sense  of  patriotic  duty. 
All  this  may  be  true,  Blower.  He  may  read  Pindar 
as  glibly  as  a  school-boy  tells  his  task,  and  say  his 
prayers  as  regularly  as  El  Mahdi,  yet,  1  must  still  aver, 
Blower,  that  in  our  May  no  man  would  have  been 
deemed  worthy  of  national  approval  who  had  been  a 
party  to  the  debasement  of  the  freeman's  right,  or  who 
made  himself  the  voluntary  champion  of  unrepentant 
assailants  of  the  nation's  life ;  neither  would  the  viola 
tor  of  law  and  one  who  denied  the  right  of  a  whole 
people  to  a  share  in  self-government  have  been  deemed 
a  worthy  instrument  to  administer  the  laws  or  uphold 
the  dignity  of  a  republic  based  on  equal  rights  to  all 
men.  Our  May  is  very  far  away,  Blower.  To-day 


THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  69 

has  forgotten  its  lessons,  but  to-morrow  will  learn  its 
truths  anew. 
MAY  19,  1880, 


"MEMOKIAL"  DAY, 


npHIS  is  the  new  name,  Blower,  for  the  "  festival  of 
-L  flowers"  we  have  been  won't  to  celebrate  upon 
this  30th  of  May.  At  first  we  called  it  "  Decoration 
Day."  By  that  name  it  is  designated  in  the  statutes 
of  those  states  which  have  made  it  a  legal  holiday,  or 
otherwise  given  its  observance  legal  recognition.  For 
a  decade  and  a  half  the  heart  of  the  nation,  still  warm 
with  that  patriotic  ardor  which  inspired  the  soldiers  of 
the  Republic,  paid  homage  to  their  valor  and  celebra 
ted  the  triumph  of  the  cause  for  which  they  fought,  by 
this  annual  festival  of  flowers,  and  because  of  its  tri 
umphant  and  exultant  character  dominated  it  Decora 
tion  Day.  The  graves  of  departed  veterans  were 
heaped  with  the  garlands  of  victory,  symbolical  both 
of  grateful  remembrance  and  patriotic  rejoicing.  It 
was  a  day  of  jubilee,  on  which  the  hero-dead  were  re 
membered  with  tenderness  and  their  achievements  with 
exultation.  '  Such  it  is  still  for  us,  Blower,  and  forever 
shall  be.  We  loved  our  comrades.  We  can  never  for 
get  their  virtues,  and  would  not  deserve  to  be  remem 
bered  in  our  extremest  hour  if  we  should  ever  cease  to 
honor  their  devotion. 

But  we  can  not  wear  the  garb  of  woe,  nor  march 
behind  a  draped  and  trailing  banner  on  this  day.  The 
comrades  whom  we  loved  may  not  be  honored  in  sack 
cloth.  The  shrieking  pipes  that  wail  the  dead  do  not 

70 


THE   VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  71 

fitly  express  a  ransomed  nation's  loving  remembrance 
of  their  deeds.  The  soldier  is  most  honored  by  the 
story  of  his  exploits,  and  the  patriot  best  remembered 
by  emulation  of  his  self-sacrifice.  To  dwell  upon  the 
hero's  sufferings  and  ignore  the  motive  .which  inspired 
his  acts  is  to  degrade  him  to  the  level  of  the  merce 
nary.  Fame  dwells  in  purpose  as  well  as  in  achievement. 
Fortitude  is  sanctified  only  by  its  aim.  Privation  is 
merely  pitiful,  unless  endured  for  a  noble  end.  Mourn 
ing  ill-befits  the  memory  of  one  who  suffered  bravely 
in  a  noble  cause,  which  through  his  fortitude  and  valor 
has  been  crowned  with  victory.  Poor  Joe  would  count 
his  love  but  ill-requited,  Blower,  should  we  go  and 
mourn  above  his  grave  for  the  life  cut  off  in  the  prom 
ise  of  its  springtide  strength  and  beauty.  His  grieved 
spirit  would  overwhelm  us  with  keen  reproaches,  should 
he  behold  us  sorrowing  still  for  the  life  he  gladly 
offered  up  for  "  freedom  and  the  right."  Ah,  Blower, 
we  know  what  he  would  say : 

"Has  the  cause  for  which  I  died  become  so  des 
picable,"  he  would  be  sure  to  ask,  "  that  my  country 
recalls  its  triumph  with  sadness,  and  remembers  the 
devotion  of  her  sons  with  sorrow  ?  Am  I  accounted 
so  unfortunate  in  having  died  for  liberty  that  the 
banner  of  the  free  is  draped,  and  the  drum's  exultant 
throbbings  muffled  on  the  one  day  when  the  nation 
calls  my  sacrifice  to  mind?  Then,  indeed,  was  my 
devotion  folly  and  my  suffering  vain !  " 

For  such  comrades,  Blower,  I  dare  not  weep.  Tears 
may  well  fall  upon  the  patriot's  bier,  but  he  who 
mourns  above  his  verdant  grave  when  the  cause  for 


72  THE   VETEEAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.         - 

which  he  fell  has  proved  triumphant,  offers  insult  to 
his  memory.  Yet  our  comrades  of  the  ever-lessening 
Grand  Army  of  survivors  of  that  great  struggle,  in 
General  Encampment  assembled,  have  decided  that  the 
instinct  of  patriotism  which  by  common  consent  hal 
lowed  that  day  when  we  first  laid  the  wreaths  of  vic 
tory  on  the  graves  of  our  patriot  dead,  as  "  Decora 
tion  Day,  and  provided  for  its  future  observance  as  a 
day  of  jubilant  remembrance  of  victory  and  deliver 
ance,  was  for  once  at  fault.  So  they  have  solemnly  de 
creed  that  henceforth  it  shall  not  be  called  "  Decora 
tion  Day,"  nor  kept  as  a  festival  of  rejoicing,  but 
shall  be  denominated  "Memorial  Day,"  and  be  ob 
served  as  a  day  of  mourning  for  our  patriot  dead. 

Oh !  shameful  mockery  of  a  noble  impulse !  As 
well  celebrate  the  Savior's  birth  in  sackcloth ;  pipe  a 
funeral  march  before  a  marriage  train;  or  require  sur 
viving  veterans  to  wear  convict  stripes  and  march  in 
lockstep,  as  to  prescribe  mourning  emblems  for  this 
day.  What  have  we  to  do  with  sorrow  ?  Victors  ex 
ult  !  They  who  celebrate  deliverance  from  evil,  re 
joice  !  Do  we  mourn  our  hero-dead  ?  Then  indeed  are 
we  unworthy  of  the  devotion  they  displayed. 

Two  days  in  all  the  busy  year  our  nation  claims  to 
celebrate  in  commemoration  of  the  most  notable  events 
in  its  history.  One  also  it  has  consecrated  to  the  mem 
ory  of  its  first  great  patriot — not  choosing  to  mourn 
forever  for  his  death — "  seeking  his  noble  father  in  the 
dust " — but  electing  rather  to  exult  in  the  good  fortune 
that  gave  to  us  the  name  of  Washington  as  an  eternal 
heritage  of  fame.  The  first  of  these  American  holi- 


THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  Y3 

days  marks  the  anniversary  of  our  first  assertion  of 
national  autonomy,  made  famous  and  immortal  by  the 
formulation  of  individual  right  on  which  it  was  predi 
cated.  The  valor  of  our  fathers  made  good  the  boast 
ful  declaration.  We  celebrate  the  fact  with  gay  mu 
sic,  flaunting  banners,  and  universal  acclaim.  We  re 
count  their  heroism,  not  with  tears,  but  with  rejoicing. 
We  do  not  mourn  for  those  who  fell,  but  exult  in  the 
sacrifice  that  purchased  victory.  To  have  perished  in 
that  struggle  is  the  proudest  inheritance  a  man  of  that 
day  could  leave  to  his  children.  How  well  we  re 
member  the  story,  Blower,  which  has  come  down  from 
sire  to  son,  of  one  who,  ordered  to  "  limber  away," 
refused  to  leave  the  rocky  path  by  which  his  guns  were 
posted  while  he  could  hold  the  enemy  in  check.  The 
commander-in-chief  wrote  himself  to  the  young  wife, 
whose  tears  fell  upon  the  face  of  her  first-born  as  she 
read  his  words:  "Your  husband's  valor  saved  the 
army  from  destruction;"  Save  this  memory  the  young 
artilleryman  left  nothing  for  his  child  be}^ond  a  nation's 
flattering  promises,  which  were  forgotten  in  the  very 
hour  of  utterance.  But  that  faded  scrap  of  paper  is 
a  precious  legacy  to  hundreds  who  bear  his  name,  and 
exult  in  the  priceless  boon  of  heroic  blood.  The  story 
of  toil  and  suffering  is  but  the  dark  background  against 
which  valor  and  victory  shine  out  the  brighter. 

Our  other  national  feast  was  designed  to  celebrate 
the  preservation  of  the  nationality  our  fathers  estab 
lished,  and  the  extension  and  universal  application  of 
that  principle  for  which  they  gladly  staked  "  life,  for 
tune,  and  their  sacred  honor."  As  an  event  of  history, 


74  THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

it  as  far  outshines  the  other  as  the  nation  of  to-day  ex 
cels  the  meager  colonies  of  a  hundred  years  ago  in 
grandeur  and  prosperity.  Our  fathers  formulated  a 
new  theory  of  government,  of  which  they.themselves 
took  advantage,  and  to  which  they  appealed  in  justifica 
tion  of  the  act  of  rebellion.  Our  comrades,  accepting 
this  doctrine  and  inspired  by  its  spirit,  overthrew  armed 
revolt  against  it,  gave  liberty  and  equality  of  right  to 
millions  of  a  race  our  fathers  had  despised  too  heartily 
to  heed  their  prayer — did  what  they  had  left  undone, 
and  transformed  their  boastful  declaration  into  accom 
plished  fact.  Shall  we  mourn  for  these  men,  who  were 
our  comrades,  while  we  exult  in  the  devotion  of  our 
fathers'  fathers'? 

No,  Blower ;  never  shall  it  be  said  that  we  wore  the 
garb  of  mourning  on  that  day  when  the  achievements 
of  our  comrades  are  commemorated.  The  moments 
dedicated  to  their  memory  shall  be  full  of  gladness. 
When  we  \vore  the  blue  in  the  day  of  battle,  we  obeyed 
orders  as  a  good  soldier.  In  that  Grand  Army  which 
still  survives  we  are  glad  always  to  obey  any  reason 
able  requirement,  and  manifest  due  subordination  to 
constituted  authority.  But  there  is  a  "higher  law" 
than  the  edict  of  a  General  Encampment,  a  more 
potent  authority  than  a  Grand  Commander's  order. 
The  dead  whom  we  profess  to  honor  have  authority 
above  all  who  live,  to  forbid  dishonor  to  their  memory. 
Our  anniversary,  Blower,  shall  be  one  of  gladness 
and  exultation.  We  will  remember  the  old  days ;  sing 
the  old  songs ;  fly  our  battle-scarred  banner  from  the 
peak,  and  strew  the  flowers  that  speak  of  victory  and 


THE    VETERAN   AND    HIS    PIPE.  75 

rejoicing  on  the  graves  of  those  whose  memory  we 
revere.  It  shall  still  be  u Decoration  Day"  in  our 
hearts;  and  gratitude  for  a  nation  preserved  and  dedi 
cated  anew  to  "  Freedom  and  the  Eight "  shall  be  the 
theme  of  our  exultant  meditations. 

Why  was  our  glorious  anniversary  abolished? 
Why  were  the  waving  flags  bound  with  dolorous 
drapery,  and  the  veterans  on  this  one  day  of  their 
public  appearance  greeted  with  wailing  dirges  and 
escorted  with  funereal  ceremonies  to  their  comrades' 
verdant  graves  ?  Has  the  Nation  ceased  to  rejoice  in 
its  deliverance  ?  Has  the  birthright  of  liberty  become 
a  thing  of  shame  ?  Do  we  mourn  because  our  fathers' 
boastful  declaration  has  been  made  a  fact  and  wrought 
into  the  warp  of  our  national  life  ? 

Ah,  Blower  it  is  a  curious  tale.  They  who  meet  on 
the  anniversary  of  "  Stonewall "  Jackson's  death,  to  do 
honor  to  the  dead  heroes  of  a  "lost  cause,"  most  appro 
priately  christened  that  sorrowful  occasion  "  Memorial 
Day."  The  sentiment  of  joy  could  constitute  no  ele 
ment  of  its  observance.  Their  dead  had  died  in  vain. 
The  cause  for  which  they  fought  was  lost,  and  the  ban 
ner  which  had  floated  above  their  ranks  was  swept  into 
oblivion.  Their  hope  was  inurned  with  their  heroes. 
The  nationality  they  had  sought  to  establish  had  van 
ished  like  a  dream.  The  luster  of  their  heroes's  fame 
must  be  dimmed  forever  by  the  memory  of  hopeless 
disaster  and  incurable  wrong. 

It  was  not  Lee  alone  who  surrendered  at  Appomat- 
tox.  When  the  Confederacy  yielded  up  its  life,  they 
who  had  upborne  its  banner  in  those  terrible  years, 


76  THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE. 

were  compelled  also  formally  to  renounce  the  principle 
on  which  it  was  based.  What  its  eloquent  Yice-Presi- 
dent  had  denominated  "the  great  truth"  on  which  it 
rested  aas  a  corner-stone,  the  subordination  of  the 
black  race  to  the  white" — the  right  to  enslave,  for 
which  so  many  had  loyally  and  bravely  died — those 
who  remained  were  compelled  by  overmastering  odds 
to  yield.  They  who  fought  for  the  freedom  of  all,  and 
equality  of  rights  for  all,  were  victorious ;  while  they 
who  had  made  appeal  to  God  by  the  device  upon  their 
battle  flag  to  maintain  and  defend  the  sanctity  and 
justness  of  slavery,  suffered  defeat.  Through  all  the 
years  that  are  to  come  these  men  must  bear  the  stigma, 
not  merely  of  defeat,  but  of  a  cause  inherently  wrong. 
Their  heroism  and  the  sincerity  of  their  conviction  may, 
in  part,  redeem  their  fame,  but  at  the  best  it  must  ever  be 
held  to  have  been  wasted  heroism — mistaken  sincerity. 
The  world  may  admire  and  pity,  but  it  can  never 
applaud.  Their  courage  and  fortitude  are  a  part  of  the 
world's  inheritance;  but  those  who  love  "freedom  and 
the  right,"  in  all  the  ages,  must  ever  be  grateful  for  the 
final  overthrow  of  the  cause  their  valor  and  their 
genius  so  long  upheld. 

The  highest  fame  which  it  is  possible  for  the 
Confederate  hero  to  attain  must  ever  be  tainted  with 
excuse  and  apology.  Of  their  dead  it  must  ever  be 
said,  as  in  extenuation  of  a  fault,  "  They  thought 
they  were  right."  Beyond  that  the  most  daring 
eulogium  can  not  go.  They  were  brave  and  earnest, 
but  misguided  men.  Their  achievements  were  deeds 
of  marvelous  valor,  but  the  hope  of  liberty  depended 


THE   VETEKAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  77 

on  their  discomfiture.  Sad  beyond  the  power  of  words 
to  depict,  is  the  story  of  their  devotion  and  their  over 
throw.  Sadder  still,  the  fact  that  in  history  they  will 
only  be  remembered  as  the  last  of  that  brave  array  of 
champions  who,  in  the  jarring  cycles  of  the  past,  have 
fought  and  died  in  defense  of  slavery — rendering  up 
their  lives  for  the  fancied  right  of  oppressing  their  fel 
lows.  Well  is  the  day  which  is  consecrated  to  their 
memory  termed  a  "Memorial  Day" — a  day  full  of 
mournful  memories  and  blighted  hopes.  For  those  who 
mourn  these  dead  heroes  and  this  ill-fated  cause,  the 
present  brings  only  the  bitterness  of  regret,  and  the 
future  offers  no  consoling  hope  of  an  ultimate  reha 
bilitation  of  their  fame.  To  them,  time  is  but  a  via 
dolorosa,  whose  ever-deepening  gloom  must  rest  more 
densely  on  the  fame  of  those  they  loved,  as  their  excuse 
grows  year  by  year  less  plausible,  and  the  cause  for 
which  they  fought  grows  more  and  more  odious  to 
free-born  millions,  to  whose  thought  slavery  will  be 
only  a  horrid  nightmare  of  an  uncomprehended  past. 

Why  was  our  glorious  holiday,  commemorative  of 
victory  rather  than  defeat,  of  glad  deliverance  rather 
than  of  hopeless  overthrow,  of  triumphant  battle  for 
the  right  rather  than  of  desperate  struggle  for  the 
wrong, — why  was  that  anniversary  of  gladness  sought 
to  be  assimilated  in  name  and  manner  of  observance  to 
this  sorrowful  memento  of  humiliation  and  disaster  ? 

Ah,  Blower,  it  is  a  sad  story  of  human  weakness. 
Strange  as  it  may  seem,  there  were  those,  even  among 
our  comrades,  who,  for  a  little  cheap  laudation,  in  silly 
deference  to  a  sickly  sentimentality,  were  willing  to 


78  THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE. 

abase  themselves  and  strip  their  dead  comrades  of  the 
white  cerements  in  which  they  peacefully  and  gloriously 
sleep.  These  men  thought  that  the  difference  between 
right  and  wrong,  between  devotion  to  liberty  and  the 
defense  of  slavery,  between  equality  of  right  for  all 
men  and  the  right  of  the  strong  to  oppress  the  weak — 
might  be  blotted  out,  and  the  Nation  led  to  honor 
alike  the  champion  of  the  right  and  the  upholder  of  the 
wrong.  So  they  sought  first  to  deprive  the  day  of  any 
significance  to  the  living.  Only  the  manhood  and 
valor  of  the  dead  were  to  be  commemorated.  The 
dead  were  to  be  mourned ;  the  cause  for  wrhich  they 
died,  forgotten.  There  was  no  other  way  by  which 
the  desired  object  could  be  accomplished,  and  the  future 
taught  to  honor  the  soldier  for  his  deeds,  regardless  of 
his  motive. 

Of  course,  they  to  whom  the  years  of  conflict  brought 
only  sorrow  and  humiliation  could  not  make  their  anni 
versary  a  jubilation.  They  had  no  reason  to  rejoice. 
Even  those  who  felt  they  had  been  in  the  wrong  could 
not  look  back  upon  those  years  of  havoc  with  feelings 
of  genuine  gladness.  If  either  festival  was  to  suffer 
change,  it  must  be  ours.  So  anxious  were  our  brethren 
to  blot  out  all  memory  of  difference,  to  put  "  the  blue  " 
and  "the  gray"  upon  the  same  level  of  commendation 
and  reverence  in  the  eyes  of  posterity,  that  they  deter 
mined  that  if  our  sometime  foemen  could  not  come  up 
to  our  plane  of  exultation  we  should  go  down  to  their 
level  of  humiliation.  It  was  a  silly  notion.  As  if  the 
facts  of  history  could  be  changed  by  resolution !  Right 
be  made  wrong,  or  joy  turned  to  sorrow,  at  the  will  of 


THE   VETEKAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  79 

a  few  sentimental  enthusiasts!  These  men  had,  per 
haps,  the  right  to  renounce  for  themselves,  the  merit  of 
patriotic  purpose,  but  they  had  no  right  to  rob  the 
dead  of  that  which  alone  makes  ttyeir  beds  upon  the 
battle-field  forever  glorious.  They  would  count  poor 
Joe's  devotion  to  "  freedom  and  the  right "  as  noth 
ing,  Blower ;  and  call  upon  the  country  to  remember 
and  reverence,  not  the  patriot — but  the  soldier !  They 
would  have  us  admit  that  the  only  memorable  thing 
about  our  dear,  dead  heroes  was  the  fact  that  they 
endured  privation  without  murmuring,  and  faced  death 
without  flinching.  They  would  ignore  what  made 
him  worthy  of  remembrance,  in  order  that  they  might 
do  equal  honor  to  his  enemy.  They  would  drag 
the  hero  down  from  his  high  pinnacle  of  moral  purpose, 
and  put  him  on  the  plane  of  the  hired  bravo  who  fights 
because  slaughter  is  his  trade,  and  to  whom  the  cause 
remains  indifferent.  "What  honor  is  it  to  say  of  a 
man  that  he  was  brave  ?  The  cur  who  lies  upon  the 
mat  at  our  feet  merits  the  same  commendation.  Joe's 
devotion  was  no  such  brutal  instinct.  His  was  the 
glory  of  self-sacrifice — the  championship  of  right.  His 
memory  can  only  be  rightly  honored  when  the  cause 
for  which  he  fell  is  exalted  and  the  halo  of  victory  cast 
upon  his  tomb. 

And  they  would  do  this,  Blower — they  would  dese 
crate  our  festival  of  glory  by  clothing  it  in  the  garb  of 
woe,  and  degrade  the  Nation's  rejoicing  in  her  deliver 
ance  from  evil,  into  puerile  pity  for  the  dead,  who  were 
glorified  in  dying — they  would  do  all  this  in  the  name 
of  charity !  They  would  invoke  that  sweet  sentiment 


80  THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

which  was  the  inspiration  of  Joe's  life — that  love  for 
the  rights  of  others  and  chivalrous  devotion  to  the 
cause  of  the  weak  and  the  oppressed,  for  which  he  lived 
and  died — as  an  excuse  for  stripping  him  of  his  one 
claim  to  immortality ! 

God  forgive  us,  Blower,  if,  with  Joe's  name  on  our 
lips  and  Joe's  memory  in  our  hearts,  we  should  fail  in 
devotion  to  the  thought  for  which  his  blood  was  shed  ! 
We  have  no  malice  toward  our  foes  of  yesterday.  The 
blood  that  stains  the  soil  beneath  our  feet  is  too  holy 
to  permit  our  hearts  to  cherish  aught  of  anger,  revenge, 
or  any  form  of  uncharitable  sentiment.  We  admire 
the  courage,  honor  the  fortitude,  and  respect  the  sin 
cerity,  of  those  who  stood  over  against  us  in  the  day  of 
conflict  as  much  as  even  those  who  mourn  in  the  shadow 
of  disappointment  and  defeat.  We  are  glad  that  such 
foemen  were  our  brothers,  and  count  our  posterity 
happy  in  their  joint  inheritance  of  fame.  But  while 
we  honor  their  valor  and  pity  their  misfortune  we 
regret  also — alas,  we  must  ever  remember  and  ever 
regret — their  error  !  We  can  not  mourn  for  their  mis 
fortune  or  cease  to  rejoice  in  our  victory.  Even  those 
among  them  to  whom  the  consciousness  of  error  came 
with  the  knowledge  of  defeat,  can  not  but  be  grateful 
for  the  disaster  that  brought  humiliation. 

God  pity  us,  Blower,  but  love  and  charity,  however 
sweet  and  fervent,  cannot  so  gild  the  wrong  as  to  make 
it  pass  current  among  men  as  the  right.  There  is  not  in 
the  lapse  of  years  any  merciful  medicament  that  will 
heal  the  fame  of  him  who  fought,  however  valorously 
and  sincerely,  for  slavery,  and  raise  it  to  the  level  of 


THE   VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  8l 

the  humblest  of  those  who  fell  in  the  cause  of  freedom. 
This  is  the  gulf  that  lies  between  Joe's  fame  and  that 
of  the  kindliest,  noblest,  truest  of  those  with  whom  he 
fought,  and  in  resisting  whose  impetuous  valor,  he 
died.  Tears  cannot  obliterate  it.  Charity  cannot 
hide  it.  As  long  as  men  love  freedom,  they  must  ap 
plaud  the  act  of  the  one  and  deplore  the  attempt  of  the 
other. 

For  the  one  army  of  valorous  dead  let  us  hold 
"memorial!"  services,  solemn  and  sad,  yet  tender  and 
sweet.  Let  us  mourn  their  wasted  manhood,  and  do 
honor  to  their  misguided  valor.  But  for  the  others — 
those  who  shed  their  blood  for  that  charity  which  counts 
the  rights  and  liberties  even  of  the  weakest  and  humblest 
of  earth  above  life  itself — let  not  only  us  and  our  com 
rades,  but  the  nation  redeemed  from  peril  and  shame, 
and  all  the  liberty-lovers  of  earth,  forever  hold  them 
in  joyful  remembrance !  When  we  shall  cease  to  heap 
their  graves  with  flowers,  let  the  garlands  of  fame  grow 
brighter  as  the  blessings  which  their  valor  bought 
grow  richer  with  the  coming  years,  making  all  future 
time  their  endless  "  Decoration  Day ! " 

MAY  30,  1885. 


UALAS!   SWEET   CHARITY":' 


"TTT^E  are  in  the  country,  Blower,  and  have  wan- 
V  V  dered  out  into  the  old  orchard  where  the  sweet 
est  memories  of  the  past  are  embalmed  in  fragrance 
and  beauty,  for  an  hour  of  self-communion.  The  trees 
have  grown  older  since  our  sweetest  May-day  beneath 
their  branches.  The  waving  grace  of  the  brown,  lithe 
limbs  is  gone.  The  great  gnarled  heads  have  grown 
gray  and  stiff.  The  trunks  are  coarse  and  moss}^,  es 
pecially  on  the  windward  sides.  Some  are  broken  and 
decayed.  The  woodpeckers  have  made  their  nests  in 
the  shattered  branches.  There  are  great  gaps  in  some 
of  the  rows  where  the  sunlight  falls  unhindered  on  the 
sod.  The  fallen  petals  yet  cover  the  ground  like  mimic 
snow,  but  the  beauty  and  the  glory  of  the  old  orchard 
are  of  yesterday,  though  its  gnarled  and  scraggly  limbs 
yet  bear  sweet  and  wholesome  fruit  for  the  nourish 
ment  of  to-day. 

Let  us  rest  in  the  half  shadow  that  lies  about  the 
trunk  of  this  old  tree,  whose  broken  boughs  teach  a 
lesson  of  good  works,  while  the  fresh  young  shoots  that 
spring  up  from  the  rent  limbs  speak  of  courage  in  the  face 
of  misfortune  ;  let  us  rest  here  in  the  very  spot  where 
we  first  heard  young  love's  sweet  whispered  words,  and 
bring  our  thoughts  to  rigorous  self-judgment.  In  the 
light  of  the  holiest  memories  of  the  past,  let  us  ask 
whether  the  heart  that  beats  beneath  the  folded  sleeve 

82 


THE   VETEEAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  83 

is  harsh  and  unjust  in  its  judgments  of  to-day.  For 
such  is  the  charge  that  is  made  against  us,  Blower.  It 
is  said  that  the  visions  which  I  see  in  the  perfumed 
clouds  that  rise  above  thy  polished  bowl,  unlike  them, 
are  not  tinged  with  the  azure  hue  of  charity,  or  bor 
dered  with  a  fleecy  film  that  hides  the  outlines  of  all 
things  lying  beyond  their  narrow  circlet.  On  the  con 
trary,  Blower,  it  is  claimed  that  for  me,  hateful  memo 
ries  gleam  fierce  and  hot  under  the  cold  ashes  of  a 
broken  life,  like  the  embers  of  thy  heated  bowl,  and 
are  wakened,  to  new  life  by  angry  inspiration.  One 
who  may  have  met  us  manfully  in  the  day  of  battle, 
perhaps  the  very  one  to  whom  this  empty  sleeve  is  due, 
asks  with  grieved  sincerity,  ais  it  not  time  that  charity 
hid  the  evils  of  the  past,  and  permitted  only  what  was 
good  therein  to  be  remembered  ? " 

Are  we  uncharitable,  Blower?  Would  we  re 
member  or  induce  another  to  remember  what  ought 
to  be  forgotton?  Is  there  in  the  heart  that  lies 
beneath  the  folded  sleeve  one  thought  of  rancor? 
Would  we  ignore  one  element  of  yesterday  that 
ought  to  be  remembered?  Have  we  ever  uttered 
words  of  bitterness,  or  even  of  reproach,  for  those  who 
fought  for  the  wrong?  Have  we  ever  failed  to  ac 
knowledge  in  them  a  valor  equal,  man  for  man,  to 
that  of  the  comrades  whom  we  love  ?  He  who  writes 
reproachfully,  demanding  charity,  says  of  himself 
that  he  was  "  brought  up  under  the  withering,  blight 
ing  curse  of  slavery,"  and  because  of  this  he  says  of 
the  Confederate  cause :  "  I  believed  then  that  we  were 
right  as  firmly  as  I  now  believe  that  we  were  wrong." 


84:  THE   VETERAN  AND   HIS   PIPE. 

Were  we  ever  lacking  in  charity  to  one  "  brought 
up  under  the  withering  curse  of  slavery,"  Blower? 
Have  we  ever  failed  in  due  appreciation  of  those  who 
believed  we  were  wrong  as  sincerely  as  Joe  believed 
that  we  were  right,  or  in  expressed  commendation  and 
approval  of  one  who  makes  himself  doubly  a  hero  by 
declaring  "  that  for  which  I  fought,  believing  it  right, 
I  now  abhor,  believing  it  wrong?" 

If  so,  we  have  done  grievous  wrong  and  hasten  now 
to  make  confession  of  our  fault.  We  can  hardly  say 
we  have  forgiven  those  who  fought  against  us,  because, 
even  in  the  heat  and  fervor  of  the  conflict,  while  we 
stood  in  the  fiery  crater  of  battle  or  witnessed  the  pit 
iful  woes  of  the  prison  pen,  we  never  once  forgot  how 
the  "  blighting,  withering  curse  of  slavery"  had  distorted 
noble  lives ;  and  while  we  pitied  greatly,  we  felt  no  ran 
cor.  So,  we  are  very  sure,  felt  the  great  body  of  our 
comrades.  Before  we  first  entered  into  battle  our  souls 
had  been  shrived  clean  of  hate.  The  mustering  of  the 
freemen  of  the  North  was,  indeed,  a  crusade  for  liberty. 
A  deep  and  fervid  ecstacy  underlay  the  whole  movement 
and  gave  it  the  character  of  a  religious  warfare  as  intense 
and  earnest  as  any  which  the  past  has  witnessed ;  but 
differing  from  all  other  conflicts  based  upon  divergence 
of  belief,  in  this  one  element — its  force  was  directed 
solely  against  the  idea  which  it  opposed,  and  not  at  all 
against  the  individuals  by  whom  the  idea  was  upheld. 

For  the  first  time  in  the  world's  history,  a  genuine 
religious  zeal  inspired  embattled  hosts  arrayed  in  sup 
port  of  a  specific  dogma,  almost  without  trace  of  en 
mity  or  aversion  toward  its  defenders.  The  belief  of 


THE   VETEKAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  85 

the  North  in  the  principles  of  human  liberty  and  equal 
ity  of  right,  was  so  fervent  and  sincere  that  it  could  not 
conceive  how  one  could  honestly  deny  their  truth, 
unless  brain  and  conscience  had  indeed  been  perverted 
through  "the  blighting,  withering  curse  of  slavery." 
Because  we  regarded  the  life  and  thought  of  the  South 
as  the  product  and  result  of  this  curse,  we  counted 
those  honest  and  sincere  who  mustered  in  its  defense 
under  the  " stars  and  bars;"  and  because  we  believed 
in  their  sincerity  we  forgot  their  error,  looking  upon 
them  with  pity  only,  and  not  with  hate.  In  saying 
this,  BloAver,  I  believe  that  I  speak  for  all  those  who, 
like  poor  Joe,  fought  for  "  freedom  and  the  right." 
The  clash  of  arms,  it  is  true,  may  have  developed 
sparks  of  fire.  War  is  savagery,  and  pity  flies  af 
frighted  from  the  battlefield.  The  hatred  and  the 
fear  of  slavery's  baneful  influence  steeled  our  hearts 
for  conquest.  All  that  was  needful  for  its  overthrow 
and  annihilation  we  were  willing  to  suffer  and  to  do, 
but  we  had  no  wish  to  punish.  Devotedly  as  we  loved 
the  right — or  what  we  deemed  the  right — bitterly  as  we 
hated  the  wrong — or  what  we  deemed  the  wrong — we 
wished  only  to  establish  the  one  and  not  to  punish  or 
despoil  the  upholders  of  the  other.  So  we  overthrew 
and  disarmed  our  foe,  taking  nothing  from  him  that 
was  his,  and  bade  him  go  in  peace  upon  his  promise  of 
good  behavior  only.  This  was  not  the  act  of  hate,  nor 
did  it  show  a  lack  of  charity,  Blower.  We  believed 
our  enemies  to  be  earnest  and  sincere  in  their  belief, 
but  counted  that  belief  dangerous  to  liberty.  All  we 
sougbt  to  do,  therefore,  was  to  render  them  powerless 


86  THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE. 

for  harm,  and  render  their  belief  innocuous  for  the 
future. 

We  gave  the  slave  his  liberty,  it  is  true,  or  rather 
permitted  him  to  resume  what  was  his  own  by  natural 
and  inalienable  right;  and  gave  to  him  the  guaranty  of  a 
constitutional  provision  that  he  should  not  be  deprived 
thereof  nor  molested  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  same. 
We  did  not  do  this  to  injure  the  master,  nor  to  take  from 
him  what  was  his;  but  because  "the right"  for  which 
we  fought  forbade  us  to  recognize  property  in  man. 
It  was  the  master's  mishap  that  loss  accrued  to  him 
thereby — the  common  misfortune  that  waits  upon  er 
roneous  judgment.  But  for  the  wrongs  of  slavery  we 
exacted  no  penalty.  Even  for  the  slave's  sake,  we 
took  nothing  from  the  master.  Naked  as  he  came  into 
the  world,  he  entered  also  into  the  estate  of  freedom. 
The  tools  with  which  he  wrought,  the  very  clothes 
which  hid  his  nakedness,  the  master  was  at  liberty  to 
withhold  from  him.  We  did  not  even  take  out  of  the 
master's  granary  corn  for  a  single  day's  support  of  the 
slave  whose  labor  he  had  enjoyed  for  years  without 
recompense.  We  gave  the  slave  his  freedom,  and  al 
lowed  the  master  to  hold,  unlessened  by  a  single  grain, 
the  product  of  his  labor.  We  sought  to  cure  the  ill  of 
slavery;  but  did  not  seek  to  punish,  even  by  the  light 
est  touch  of  power,  the  wrong  of  past  enslavement  or 
compel  atonement  to  be  made  for  unrequited  toil.  This 
was  not  the  part  of  hate,  Blower,  nor  does  it  argue  any 
lack  of  charity. 

Perhaps  it  might  have  been  more  wisely  done 
in  some  of  its  details;  but  never  before  in  ail  ihe 


THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  87 

world's  history  was  the  conqueror's  will  so  lightly 
tinged  with  harshness,  or  administered  with  such  ten 
der  care,  not  merely  for  the  rights,  but  even  for  the 
foibles  and  fancies  of  the  subjugated.  Nay,  we  have 
been  so  charitable  that  we  have  winked  at  crimes 
which  have  put  barbarism  to  the  blush;  and  have  al 
most  forborne  to  blame,  when  the  nation's  pledges  to 
the  liberated  bondman  have  been  rendered  null  by  ran 
corous  and  organized  opposition  to  the  nation's  will. 
We  have  so  trusted  in  the  sincerity  of  our  foemen  and 
believed  in  the  potency  of  right  to  heal  even  "  the  blight 
ing  curse  of  slavery,"  that  we  have  waited  patiently 
and  hopefully  for  words  and  works  that  should  testify 
recognition  and  acceptance,  not  merely  of  the  physical 
facts  attending  the  overthrow  of  the  Confederacy,  but 
also  of  the  principle  which  underlay  the  suppression 
of  rebellion — the  equal  right  of  all  men  to  the  privil 
ege  of  self-government,  on  which  the  right  to  liberty  in 
its  last  analysis  must  ever  rest.  We  have  waited  twen 
ty  years  for  evidence  of  that  true  citizenship  which  is 
jealous  of  the  rights  of  every  other  citizen,  only  to  see 
the  law  of  the  land  openly  defied  and  seven  millions  of 
citizens,  to  whom  the  nation  had  pledged  its  protection 
in  the  exercise  of  a  freeman's  right,  thrust  without  the 
pale  of  sovereignty  by  force  or  fraud,  and  given  only  so 
much  of  privilege  as  the  master-race  may  see  fit  to  al 
low.  This  is  openly  and  boldly  proclaimed,  and  the 
rule  of  the  majority,  on  which  our  liberties  depend, 
is  boldly  flouted  by  those  who,  in  the  same  breath,  plead 
for  charity  and  oblivion  for  the  evil  of  the  past. 

Even  then  we  have  granted  this  prayer,  Blower. 


88  THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

Such  has  been  our  tender  consideration  for  our  some 
time  enemies,  that  we  have  turned  a  deaf  ear  to 
the  cries  of  our  feeble  allies,  have  stood  quietly  by 
while  their  rights  were  ravished  from  them,  and  per 
mitted  the  most  valuable  element  of  the  liberty 
we  had  won  for  them  and  guaranteed  to  them  to  be 
wrested  from  their  grasp,  without  interference;  nay, 
almost  without  protest.  We  have  made  ourselves  false 
to  the  nation's  plighted  honor  in  order  to  manifest  our 
charity.  Such  a  course,  Blower,  is  but  a  poor  founda 
tion  for  the  piteous  whine  for  charity  which  every  wind 
that  comes  up  from  the  South  brings  to  ears  that  begin 
to  grow  weary  of  its  iteration. 

Much  has  been  said,  Blower,  and  is  said  to-day,  of  the 
injustice  of  having  excluded  a  portion  of  the  Southern 
people  for  a  short  period  from  the  privilege  of  partici 
pating  in  the  control  and  direction  of  the  government. 
Less  than  one-fifth  of  the  wThite  population  was  thus 
excluded  by  operation  of  law,  and  the  memory  of  it, 
even  after  the  lapse  of  a  decade  and  a  half  yet  fills  the 
Southern  heart  with  rage,  and  produces  red-eyed  par 
oxysms  of  threatening  diatribe,  of  the  same  charac 
ter,  and  of  like  quality,  with  those  wonderful  efforts  in 
which  slavery  shrieked  defiance  to  liberty  and  be 
wailed  the  lack  of  charity  that  questioned  her  right  to 
oppress.  Yet  this  abnormal  anger  at  the  debarment 
of  a  few  of  their  race,  for  a  brief  period,  from  the 
right  of  suffrage,  has  not  tended  in  the  least  degree,  to 
make  them  careful  of  the  rights  of  others,  but  seems 
instead  to  have  stimulated  in  them  an  insane  rage  to 
subvert  the  freedman's  blood-bought  and  law-defined 


THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  Stf 

privilege.  But  it  is  time,  Blower,  that  the  gloss  of 
sentimentality  was  stripped  from  this  threadbare  plea 
of  wrong.  It  is  not  true  that  the  Nation  took  from  any 
man  any  right  which  he  possessed ! 

Only  the  other  day  a  petition  was  sent  to  the 
President  of  the  United  States  asking  the  pardon 
of  Jefferson  Davis.  Though  framed  in  blissful  igno 
rance  of  statutory  enactments,  it  still  proceeded  on  a 
logical  hypothesis  in  asserting  that  the  late  presi 
dent  of  the  Confederacy  was,  in  law  and  morals, 
guilty  of  no  graver  an  offense  than  other  thousands, 
all  of  whom  had  been  forgiven  and  restored  to  all 
the  rights  the  citizen  can  have.  Every  citizen  of  the 
United  States  who  voluntarily  aided  the  rebellion, 
by  that  act,  in  equity  as  well  as  by  law,  lost  all  the 
rights  appertaining  to  such  citizenship.  It  is  a  silly  and 
arrogant  pretense  that  the  rebel  soldier,  with  the  oath 
of  allegiance  to  the  Confederacy  yet  warm  upon  his 
lips,  and  the  flag  of  rebellion  flying  above  his  head  as 
he  charged  the  Union  lines  with  determined  purpose  to 
destroy,  had  somewhere  hidden  about  his  person — per 
haps  wrapped  about  the  "forty  rounds"  of  death- 
dealing  cartridges  he  carried  into  action — the  safeguard 
and  guaranty  of  American  citizenship.  Allegiance 
has  no  such  indestructible  quality. 

The  man  who  calls  upon  God  to  witness  his  re 
nunciation  of  the  old  and  his  adoption  of  a  new  alle 
giance  can  never  afterwards  assert  any  plea  of  right 
or  privilege  under  the  former.  What  comes  to  him 
thereafter  of  consideration  or  privilege  from  the 
government  he  has  renounced  must  be  of  grace  and 


90  THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE. 

not  of  right.  All  that  the  government  ever  did 
was  to  leave  a  small  percentage  of  its  armed  and 
organized  enemies  just  where  they  had  placed  them 
selves.  They  had  called  God  to  witness  that  they 
were  no  longer  citizens  of  the  United  States,  and  had 
caused  official  record  of  this  to  be  entered  in  the  pub 
lic  archives.  Because  four-fifths  were  pardoned  out 
right,  and  the  others  left  for  a  while  upon  probation, 
the  whole  have  raised  the  curious  outcry  of  injustice 
and  oppression. 

Even  this  last  petitioner  for  the  last  unpardoned  rebel 
alleges,  with  apparent  unconsciousness  of  its  absurdity, 
that  others  have  been  pardoned  while  he  for  whom  he 
asks  rehabilitation  has  not,  and  that  this  withholding  of 
pardon  for  acts  of  the  most  flagrant  and  ensanguined 
wrong,  constitutes  an  injustice  which  is  likely  to  bring 
do\vii  the  gray  hairs  of  the  aged  patriot  with  sorrow  to 
the  grave.  What  a  refutation  is  this,  Blower,  of  the  oft- 
repeated  charge  of  a  lack  of  charity  and  forbearance  on 
the  part  of  the  nation.  No  hangman  was  required  when 
our  rebellion  ended.  No  commissioners  of  confiscated 
estates  held  crowded  courts  thereafter,  as  at  the  close 
of  our  revolutionary  war ;  but  at  the  end  of  twenty 
years  the  head  of  one  of  the  greatest  rebellions  the 
world  has  ever  known,  the  commander-in-chief  of  an 
army  which  it  cost  half  a  million  lives  to  overthrow — 
this  man,  by  the  mouth  of  &proohaine  ami  alleges  as 
his  chiefest  grievance,  that  our  abounding  mercy  has 
left  him  no  companion  in  misfortune — that  he  is  the 
only  man  whose  voluntary  oath  renouncing  his  alle 
giance  has  been  allowed  to  stand  unexpunged ! 


THE    VETERAN   AND    HIS   PIPE.  91 

But  he  who  writes  the  words  which  we  have  read 
with  solemn  gladness,  "  I  believed  that  we  were  right 
then  as  thoroughly  as  I  now  believe  that  we  were 
wrong,"  by  their  very  utterance  has  put  himself  be 
yond  the  pale  of  charity.  Charity  implies  toleration, 
forbearance,  patience  with  those  who  persist  in  wrong- 
thinking  or  wrong-doing.  We  cannot  exercise  charity 
toward  those  whose  acts  \ve  honor  and  applaud. 
"Charity,"  we  are  told  "  covers  a  multitude  of  sins,"  but 
it  is  repentance  that  lets  fall  the  curtain  of  oblivion. 
To  have  fought  bravely  for  what  he  "  believed  to  be 
right,"  would  of  itself  have  entitled  this  "  ex-Confeder 
ate  "  to  that  honorable  regard  which  courage  and  sin 
cerity  must  always  merit.  Even  to  have  submitted 
honorably  to  defeat,  though  he  had  never  come  to  be 
lieve  the  cause  for  which  he  fought  to  have  been  wrong, 
or  recognized  the  evil  attending  "  the  withering,  blight 
ing  curse  of  slavery,"  would  have  entitled  him  to  that 
charity  which  our  comrades  and  the  country  have  so 
abundantly  bestowed  upon  those  who  stood  with  him, 
pari-delictors  in  the  wrong  which  underlay  that  woful 
strife.  When  he  steps  out  of  the  ranks  of  those  who 
yielded  their  arms  but  did  not  surrender  their  opinions; 
when  he  says,  "  You  were  right  and  I  was  wrong," 
there  can  be  no  more  talk  of  charity.  Such  a  declara 
tion  is  the  substantial  basis  of  reconciliation,  amity,  re 
established  union.  We  extend  to  that  man,  Blower, 
not  the  fig-leaf  of  charity,  but  the  right  hand  of 
friendship — the  guaranty  of  a  trust  that  no  future 
difference  can  for  a  moment  weaken,  much  less  destroy. 
To  him  the  error  of  the  past  has  become  a  beacon  to 


92  THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

warn  from  like  error  in  the  future.  Realizing  the  na 
ture  of  that  wrong  which  it  required  so  much  precious 
blood  to  obliterate,  he  will  naturally  be  very  heedful 
of  human  right  hereafter.  We  do  not  know  what  his 
political  affiliations  may  be.  If  he  means  what  he 
says  we  hardly  care.  The  destiny  of  the  country,  the 
rights  and  liberties  of  the  humblest  and  the  weakest, 
are  as  safe  in  the  hands  of  such  a  man  as  they  would 
have  been  in  poor  dear  Joe's  in  that  last  hour  of  sweet 
self-sacrifice. 

Have  I  ever  uttered  a  word  or  penned  a  line, 
Blower,  to  imply  distrust  or  encourage  disparagement 
of  such  men  as  he — twice-told  heroes,  who  dared  not 
only  to  fight  for  what  they  believed  to  be  right,  but  stand 
forth  afterward  and  confess  that  it  was  wrong  ?  Never, 
Blower,  never!  In  this  sweet  sanctuary  of  spotless 
love,  with  the  rustle  of  angel  pinions  on  the  incense- 
freighted  air,  let  me  solemnly  aver  that  never  for  one 
moment  had  such  thought  lodgment  in  my  heart ! 
On  the  contrary,  my  heartfelt  sorrow  and  hottest,  most 
indignant  scorn  have  ever  been  evoked  by  the  fact 
that  our  countrymen,  sometimes  even  our  comrades, 
will  draw  no  distinction  between  those  who  deplore  the 
wrong  for  which  they  fought,  perceive  "the  bjighting 
curse  "  which  slavery  was,  and  those  who,  unrepentant 
of  evil,  still  exult  in  the  havoc  which  was  wrought  and 
seek  to  perpetuate  the  wrong  which  Joe  died  to  de 
stroy.  The  brave  ir.ii.n.  who  repents  can  be  trusted  with 
to-morrow's  destiny ;  but  he  who  has  learned  nothing 
by  defeat ;  lie  who  boasts  only  of  the  prowess  he  dis 
played  in  the  support  of  evil ;  he  who  while  clamoring 


THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  93 

for  charity  for  himself,  can  set  his  foot  with  ruthless 
violence  upon  the  rights  of  others ;  he  who  will  hold 
and  exercise  authority  secured  by  unlawful  suppress 
ion  of  the  will  of  a  majority  ;  in  short,  all  those 
whose  only  claim  to  charity  is  that  they  have  sinned, 
whose  only  guaranty  of  wisdom  is  that  they  counseled 
evil  and  organized  disaster,  and  whose  only  certificate 
of  patriotism  is  that  they  were  valiant  upholders  of 
oppression — these  and  every  one  of  them,  Blower,  is  a 
far  more  dangerous  enemy  of  liberty  to-day  than  when 
he  stood  among  the  hosts  of  treason  over  against  us  on 
the  battle-field,  or  sat  in  the  councils  of  our  confedera 
ted  foes.  The  spirit  that  strips  the  freedman  of  his 
rights  to-day  in  defiance  of  the  law,  in  purpose  is  not 
less  malign,  and  in  its  consequences  is  far  more  dan 
gerous,  than  that  which  yesterday  used  the  forms  of  law 
to  debar  the  slave  of  his  liberty.  To  give  such  men 
charge  of  our  national  affairs  is  not  less  sacrilegious 
than  to  intrust  the  Ark  of  the  Covenant  to  the  care  of 
uncleansed  Uzzas. 

While  we  would  honor  and  trust  the  valiant  soldier 
who  confesses  that  his  cause  was  wrong ;  while  we  even 
regard  with  profound  respect  the  hard-fibered  veteran 
who  can  not  yet  surrender  the  baleful  dogmas  of  yes 
terday,  we  would  no  more  think  of  intrusting  the 
slightest  atom  of  national  power  to  one  who  has  no 
regret  for  the  part  he  took  in  promoting  rebellion,  and 
who  can  see  nothing  wrong  in  the  past  except  the 
course  of  the  government  in  suppressing  the  rebellion 
and  freeing  the  slave — I  say,  Blower,  and  I  say  it  rev 
erently  in  this  holiest  of  earthly  tabernacles — I  would 


94  THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE. 

no  sooner  trust  such  a  man  with  the  lightest  tittle  of 
national  authority,  than  I  would  give  a  sleeping  babe 
to  a  murderer  who  laughingly  boasted  of  infantile 
slaughter  he  had  wrought.  Right  is  right.  Only  fools 
intrust  precious  things  to  those  who  make  a  boast  of 
evil-doing.  It  is  a  marvelously  silly  notion,  Blower, 
that  the  slave-master — he  who  fought  and  bled  for  the 
right  to  oppress  and  still  believes  in  the  white  man's 
right  to  control  the  black — is,  by  these  very  facts,  made 
the  fittest  guardian  of  the  freedman's  liberty.  It  is  only 
when  he  sees  the  error  of  the  past  that  he  becomes  wor 
thy  to  minister  at  freedom's  shrine — a  shrine  which  is 

To  be  approached  and  touched  with  serious  fear 
With  hands  made  pure  and  hearts  of  faith  severe, 
Like  to  the  priesthood  of  the  One  Divine  ! 

JUNE  6,  1885. 


PUBITAlSr    OB    OAYALIER 


IT  is  a  curious  thing,  Blower,  that  our  Southern 
brethren  should  be  so  peculiarly  sensitive  about 
what  is  said  concerning  themselves,  or  the  ideas  and 
institutions  of  the  South.  One  would  suppose,  from 
the  energy  and  persistency  with  which  they  assert 
their  individual  and  collective  superiority  over  the 
rest  of  mankind,  that  the}^  would  be  entirely  undis 
turbed  by  the  opinions  of  those  whom  they  profess  to 
esteem  so  lightly.  Instead  of  this,  however,  we  find 
their  ears  always  strained  to  catch  the  slightest  mur 
mur  of  disparagement;  and  their  suspicion  even  more 
alert  to  imagine  depreciation  where  none  is  intended. 
One  of  these  friends  writes  angrily  of  our  remarks  in 
reference  to  "  Stonewall "  Jackson,  asserting  without 
scruple  that  we  "praised  Jackson  in  order  to  more  ef 
fectually  disparage  Lee." 

We  had  neither  motive  nor  desire  as  he  should  have 
seen,  Blower,  to  lessen  by  so  much  as  one  pen-stroke 
the  just  fame  of  the  commander  of  the  Army  of  North 
ern  Virginia.  Even  if  we  had  the  disposition  we  have 
not  the  power  to  do  so.  The  story  of  his  life  is  written 
in  the  history  of  that  great  day  by  his  own  hand.  The 
humble  and  comparatively  unknown  actors  in  the 
world's  great  drama  may  perhaps  be  misunderstood  or 
misrepresented  in  history,  but  those  who  lead  great 
movements,  by  that  very  fact  become  their  own  biogra- 

95 


96  THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

pliers.  All  may  not  be  apparent  at  a  glance.  Time 
may  be  required  to  unravel  some  of  the  hieroglyphics ; 
but  the  real  history  of  a  great  life  is  always  written 
before  its  end  is  reached.  This  record  every  one  has 
the  right  to  read  and  construe  for  himself. 

But  the  jealousy  of  our  Southern  friends  is  as  base 
less  and  absurd  as  their  clamor  for  charity.  The  peo 
ple  of  the  North — the  upholders  of  national  power  in 
the  great  conflict — have  only  little  less,  if  indeed  they 
have  any  less,  interest  in  the  fair  fame  of  the  leaders 
of  the  Confederate  armies  than  the  people  of  the  South 
themselves.  They  were  types  of  American  as  well  as  of 
merely  Southern  character.  The  foundations  of  their 
excellence  were  laid  broad  and  deep  on  the  firm  basis 
of  pur  national  life.  It  was  only  the  bias  given  to 
their  powers  that  was  distinctively  Southern.  As 
men  they  were  the  nation's  children.  Their  glory 
lives  to  adorn  the  nation's  history.  Their  errors  and 
weaknesses  are  either  buried  in  the  pitiful  tomb  of  a 
lost  cause  or  remain  a  heritage,  shameful  or  reproach 
ful,  as  the  case  may  be,  of  that  civilization  which  not 
only  blighted  noble  lives  but  handicapped  a  whole  peo 
ple  in  the  race  of  progress.  It  is  to  the  credit  of  our 
American  life  that  it  produced  such  men  as  Lee 
and  Jackson;  and  to  the  everlasting  discredit  of  South 
ern  life  and  institutions  that  they  cast  upon  such  men, 
the  disadvantage  and  weighed  down  their  fame  with 
the  odium  of  a  cause  which  must  continue  to  grow 
more  reprehensible,  if  not  even  more  detestable,  with 
the  lapse  of  years. 

So  far  as  favor  is  concerned,  Blower,  there  is  per- 


THE   VETERAN   AND    HIS    PIPE.  97 

haps  no  reason  why  the  supporter  of  the  national  cause 
should  incline  to  magnify  the  fame  of  Jackson  rather 
than  that  of  Lee.  In  doing  so,  in  truth,  I  only  gave 
utterance  to  that  instinctive  cry  of  the  South  in  the 
hour  of  her  deepest  humiliation :  "  If  Stonewall "  Jack 
son  had  only  lived  this  thing  would  never  have  hap 
pened  to  us."  It  is  amazing  how  universal  was. this 
sentiment.  I  venture  to  say,  Blower,  that  we  have 
not  a  comrade  who  served  for  even  a  month  in  the  sub 
jugated  territory  after  Lee's  surrender,  who  did  not 
hear  it  a  thousand  times,  alike  from  those  who  fought 
and  those  who  watched,  from  old  and  young,  from 
male  and  female.  That  they  are  becoming  jealous  of 
the  fame  of  the  chief  when  contrasted  with  that  of  the 
subordinate  may,  perhaps,  be  an  indication  that  the 
sting  of  regret  for  what  was  not  accomplished  is  giving 
way  to  a  curious  exultation  in  what  was  actually 
achieved. 

We,  who  can  have  no  such  bias,  Blower,  may  even 
now  hold  the  balance  fairly  between  these,  our  great 
foemen,  and  foretell  with  certainty  the  verdict  of  the 
future  on  their  merits.  Both  were  men  of  whose  fame 
and  achievements  any  people  might  well  be  proud. 
Both  were  men  of  spotless  personal  character.  Despite 
the  fine-spun  ethical  disquisitions  by  which  it  has  re 
cently  been  attempted  to  distinguish  between  the  offi 
cial  and  the  private  character  of  public  men,  we  who 
are  of  yesterday,  Blower,  must  ever  note  as  first  among 
the  claims  to  renown  the  fact  of  personal  purity.  We  re 
member  with  especial  pride,  therefore,  that  the  great 
names  of  our  climacteric  era,  upon  both  sides  of  the 


98  THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

great  controversy,  were  men  against  whose  private 
characters  no  word  of  reproach  was  ever  truthfully  ut 
tered.  This  first  element  of  deserved  fame  was  sup 
plemented  in  both  the  characters  under  consideration 
by  intellectual  and  manly  characteristics  of  the  very 
first  order.  The  one  was  a  most  accomplished  soldier 
— a  subtle  and  elusive  strategist  to  whom  war  was  a 
game  in  which  he  was  so  conscious  of  his  own  excel 
lence  that  he  was  never  quite  able  to  eliminate  himself 
and  his  fame  from  the  problem  he  was  endeavoring  to 
solve.  The  other  was  a  thunderbolt  of  war  to  whom 
the  end  was  everything.  All  that  lay  between  him 
and  victory  was  unconsidered  dust.  He  himself  was 
nothing  to  himself.  He  counted  his  fame  of  no  more 
value  than  his  life,  and  staked  both  without  a  moment's 
hesitation,  whenever  the  aspect  of  the  conflict  seemed 
to  demand.  The  one  had  the  misfortune  to  fall  in  a 
subordinate  position  in  which  he  had  already  outshone 
his  great  chief.  The  other  had  the  misfortune  to  live 
after  the  close  of  a  mighty  conflict,  in  which  he  won 
little  honor  and  no  victories  after  the  fall  of  his  great 
subordinate.  The  one  has  had  the  greater  measure  of 
adulation  ;  the  other  the  still  more  flattering  tribute  of 
having  made  his  name  a  thing  of  terror  to  his  enemies, 
so  that  his  simple  presence  was  accounted  by  them  the 
sure  presage  of  disaster.  * 

It  is  folly,  Blower,  to  suppose  that  any  American 
who  has  a  spark  of  pride  in  his  country's  history  does 
not  exult  in  the  fame  of  such  men  as  these.  No  one 
doubts  that  the  motives  of  both  were  patriotic,  accord 
ing  to  their  respective  ideas  of  what  constituted  pa- 


THE   VETEKAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  99 

triotism.  The  one  was  a  theorist  who  sacrificed  a  well- 
deserved  fame  to  the  dogma  of  state  rights.  He  be 
lieved  that  Virginia  had  a  right  to  command  his  sword 
and  services.  In  obedience  to  her  behest,  from  a  fine 
and  peculiar  sense  of  honor,  he  sacrificed  his  own  views 
of  policy — his  own  ideas  of  the  ultimate  good  of  the 
whole  country — and  became  the  zealous  instrument  of 
a  popular  impulse  the  wisdom  of  which  he  may  at  least 
be  said  to  have  doubted.  His  conduct  was  animated 
by  a  conviction  that  Virginia  had  a  right  to  secede,  to 
establish  an  independent  government,  or  ally  herself 
with  other  political  communities  in  a  confederate  na 
tionality,  as  she  saw  fit ;  and  that  he,  representing  the 
honor  and  dignity  of  the  Lees  and  all  their  kindred, 
was  in  duty  bound  to  obey  her  mandate  zealously  and 
faithfully,  no  matter  what  might  be  his  individual  be 
lief  as  to  the  consequences.  It  can  hardly  be  shown 
that  he  was  at  any  time  very  sanguine  of  the  result. 
His  religious  instincts  were  strong,  and  his  belief  in 
the  abstract  right  of  secession  is  unquestionable.  The 
confidence  which  he  so  often  expressed  in  the  divine 
favor  was  no  doubt  based  on  this  conviction  as  to  the 
right  of  Virginia,  acting  as  an  independent  common 
wealth,  to  choose  her  own  governmental  form  and  po 
litical  affiliations.  Beyond  this  his  confidence  did  not 
go.  There  was,  with  him,  no  burning  sense  of  injus 
tice  done  or  threatened — no  deep  conviction  of  an  un 
avoidable  necessity — no  profound  belief  that  the  pros 
perity,  happiness,  and  ultimate  destiny  of  a  great  peo 
ple  demanded  the  establishment  of  the  Confederacy 
and  the  appeal  to  arms.  It  is  even  doubtful  if  he  had 


100  THE   VETERAN  AND   HIS   PIPE. 

any  definite  hope  of  success  until  Jackson's  wonderful 
campaign  in  the  Yalley  of  the  Shenandoah  seemed 
to  give  assurance  of  ultimate  victory.  The  honor  of 
a  great  name  and  loyalty  to  Virginia  were  the  motives 
that  inspired  Robert  E.  Lee. 

These  were  noble  and  worthy  motives,  Blower, 
alike  honorable  to  the  man  and  creditable  to  the  peo 
ple  of  whom  he  was  a  part.  No  base  or  sordid  ambi 
tion  and  no  taint  of  personal  dishonor  can  be  attributed 
to  him.  He  was  a  knightly  and  chivalrous  champion  of 
a  cause  not  only  ill-starred,  but  based  on  evil  purpose 
and  expressly  designed  to  promote  and  perpetuate  a 
wrong.  It  was  not  a  broad  and  generous  devotion  to 
the  principles  of  human  freedom,  nor  a  consuming  de 
sire  for  the  good  of  his  fellows  that  inspired  his  action, 
but  only  a  strained  and  fanciful  sense  of  honor — the 
noblesse  oblige  of  a  technical  allegiance  and  an  honored 
name. 

Far  different  was  it  with  Jackson.  He  was  a  man 
of  a  nobler,  if  not  so  romantic,  a  type.  He  had  not 
time  to  think  of  himself,  and  was  not  burdened  with 
any  ancestral  array  whose  ghostly  mandates  were 
binding  on  his  conscience.  Practically,  be  was  the 
first  of  his  line.  His  family,  though  honorable  enough, 
was  humble,  which,  in  the  social  organization  of  the 
South,  means  more  than  can  be  well  understood  at  the 
North.  Compared  with  Lee  he  was  decidedly  his 
inferior  in  social  rank.  He  was  one  of  the  tolerated 
classes  of  that  day  at  the  South,  who  in  effect  sat 
"  below  the  salt."  He  was  of  the  least  esteemed  of  the 
professions — a  schoolmaster.  His  merits  as  a  man  and 


THE    VETERAN   AND    HIS    PIPE.  101 

an  instructor  had  brought  him  a  certain  prestige.  Lee 
was  born  with  the  right  to  command ;  Jackson  had  to 
win  it.  The  haughtiest  Virginian  was  proud  to  serve 
under  the  aristocratic  soldier,  whose  courtly  manner 
and  distinguished  descent  gave  him  an  admitted  pre 
eminence  among  them.  It  was  far  otherwise  with  the 
scrubby,  saturnine  professor,  who  had  no  title  to  rank 
among  them  except  his  technical  knowledge  and  the 
commission  which  he  held.  He  was  a  commander,  not 
a  leader.  The  rule  which  he  established  when  he  first 
issued  orders  taking  command  at  Harper's  Ferry  was 
that  of  the  soldier,  not  that  of  the  man.  Half  of  his 
subordinates  felt  themselves  his  superior  in  everything 
but  military  technique.  He  represented  no  social  or 
political  leadership.  The  men  who  were  called  upon 
to  obey  him  felt  humiliated  rather  than  honored  by  his 
preferment.  "  He  was  regarded  as  a  very  worthy  per 
son,"  said  a  distinguished  Southern  gentleman,  whose 
relations  with  him  up  to  that  time  were  peculiarly 
close,  "  but  there  was  nothing  in  his  social  position, 
family,  or  previous  career,  to  give  any  promise  of  the 
remarkable  qualities  he  afterward  displayed."  The 
words  were  spoken  years  after  his  death,  and  Jackson's" 
fame  had  in  a  peculiar  manner  reflected  honor  on  the 
man  who  uttered  them,  but  the  cool,  even  tone  in 
which  they  were  spoken  was  not  entirely  devoid  of  the 
idea  of  patronage  even  then.  The  fact  is  that  Jackson 
represented  the  type  of  Southern  life  which  was  dis 
tinctly  considered  not  "the  best."  He  was  a  good 
enough  man,  a  worthy  person,  a  useful  .citizen;  but  the 
peculiar  and  indescribable  flavor  of  Southern  gentle- 


102  THE   VETEKAN   AND   HIS   PIPE. 

manhood  was  hardly  recognizable  in  his  personality 
until  his  sword  had  cut  his  way  to  the  first  rank  among 
the  soldiers  of  his  day.  He  had  no  prestige,  no  polit 
ical  influence,  no  following.  He  had  not  even  any  con 
fidant,  and  is  not  known  to  have  had  any  aspiration. 
He  had  his  sword,  his  brain,  and  an  unwavering  con 
viction. 

This  man  had  never  any  doubt.  With  religious 
instincts  even  stronger  than  those  of  his  superior,  he 
fought  for  a  cause  which  he  believed  to  be  wholly  and 
divinely  right.  He  believed  that  he  saw  the  hand  of 
God  in  the  great  conflict,  and  gave  himself  to  the 
divine  service  as  humbly  and  self-forgetfully  on  the 
field  of  battle  as  in  the  performance  of  the  peaceful 
duties  of  the  church,  which  he  had  thitherto  discharged. 
In  his  belief  the  appeal  to  arms  was  not  made  in  sup 
port  merely  of  a  state's  right  to  secede,  but  in  assertion 
of  a  nation's  highest  right  and  divinest  privilege — in 
support  of  a  social  order,  established  by  the  express 
commandment,  and  perpetuated  and  maintained  by  the 
special  favor  and  protection,  of  the  Almighty.  His 
tender  conscience  cast  a  charm  over  an  institution, 
many  of  whose  aspects  were  especially  horrible  and 
degrading.  To  his  stern  but  tender  Christianity, 
slavery  represented,  not  only  the  Divine  injunction, 
but  a  burden  of  onerous  duty.  With  him  the  patri- 
archial  theory  which  was  claimed  as  its  philosophic 
basis,  was  crystallized  into  rigorous  but  beautiful  fact. 
The  "  man-servant  and  the  maid-servant "  in  his  house 
hold  were  not  simple  instruments  of  avarice  or  luxury. 
The  slave  was  to  his  mind  an  actual  charge  upon  his 


THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  103 

Christian  charity.  The  African  had  been  brought  to 
this  land,  as  he  believed,  to  be  redeemed.  He  never 
once  dreamed  of  him  as  an  equal,  except  in  his  right  to 
salvation.  Bondage,  subordination,  he  accounted  a 
privilege  to  the  bondman,  and  a  burden  and  a  duty  to 
the  master.  The  southern  cause  was,  to  his  apprehen 
sion,  simply  a  movement  in  support  of  divine  order, 
and  in  furtherance  of  a  divine  purpose.  His  own 
relations  with  the  institution  had  not  been  so  intimate 
or  extended  as  to  corrupt  his  feeling,  or  to  abate  the 
sincerity  of  his  belief.  He  did  his  duty  as  a  Christian 
master  with  assiduity,  zeal,  and  tenderness.  In  his 
view  the  slave  was  simply  a  heathen,  incapable  of 
development  to  the  point  of  self-direction,  who  was 
subjected  to  the  white  man  in  order  that  he  might  be 
kept  from  the  sins  of  barbarism,  and  given  an  oppor 
tunity  for  salvation. 

He  thought  the  southern  people  had  been  divinely 
fitted  for  the  evangelization  and  perhaps  the  ultimate 
civilization  of  the  race  thus  intrusted  to  their  guardian 
ship.  He  recognized  the  fact  that  this  preparation  had 
made  the  south  a  distinct  and  peculiar  people,  and  he 
believed  that  a  high  religious  duty  and  a  most  exalted 
destiny  demanded  the  preservation  and  maintenance  of 
these  distinctive  features.  He  believed  the  events  in 
which  he  was  taking  part  were  the  subject  of  prophecy, 
so  that  the  cause  for  which  he  fought  became  as  much 
a  part  of  his  religious  belief  as  the  sacraments  of  the 
church  to  which  he  belonged. 

Tender  as  he  was  by  nature,  he  was  a  zealot  with 
a  heart  of  adamant.  He  did  not  hate,  nor  did  he 


104  THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

wish  to  harm  or  persecute.  He  simply  abhorred  evil. 
He  regarded  the  opposition  of  the  north  to  slavery  not 
so  much  as  an  intrusion  upon  the  master's  right  as  an 
interference  with  his  duty — a  sort  of  religious  libertin 
ism  from  which  the  south  was  bound  by  the  most 
sacred  obligations  to  protect  her  people  and  their  insti 
tutions.  He  was  not  a  man  of  words.  His  convictions 
showed  only  now  and  then  through  the  dense  armor  of 
impenetrable  reserve  in  which  he  clothed  his  life  and 
in  the  seeming  contradiction  between  acts  which  are 
reconcilable  only  on  this  hypothesis. 

In  type  and  character  he  was  to  his  chief  almost 
identically  what  Cromwell  was  to  Fairfax.  No  man  in 
history  may  more  fitly  be  taken  as  the  prototype  of 
Lee  than  the  able,  courtly,  honorable,  yet  conservative 
Parliamentary  general  of  whom  Milton  wrote  that  his 

' '  name  in  arms  through  Europe  rings, 
Filling  each  mouth  with  envy  or  with  praise." 

At  that  day,  and  for  a  long  time  afterward,  it  is 
unquestionable  that  he  was  regarded  as  a  far  abler  gen 
eral  than  he  who  at  length  became  the  Lord  Protector. 
Yet,  looking  at  the  history  of  that  time,  it  is  easy  to 
see  that  the  chief  owed  more  to  his  subordinate  than 
he  was  able  to  give  to  the  great  man  who  was  growing 
into  commanding  stature  in  the  shadow  of  his  fame. 
Without  Cromwell's  iron  will,  tireless  energy,  and 
readiness  to  accept  responsibility,  Fairfax's  fame 
would  hardly  have  exceeded  that  of  a  score  of  his 
contemporaries.  Like  Lee  he  was  already  an  honored 
and  accomplished  soldier,  before  the  "Lord  of  the 
Fens  "  had  organized  his  "  Ironsides,"  or  looked  into 


THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  105 

the  face  of  an  enemy  in  battle  array.  Like  him,  too, 
whenever  he  fought  without  the  support  of  his  great 
lieutenant,  his  battles  were  indecisive  or  his  victories 
unprofitable.  But  for  Cromwell,  Fairfax's  career 
would  undoubtedly  have  ended  at  Marston  Moor,  and 
but  for  Jackson's  marvelous  victories  on  the  Shenan- 
doah,  and  his  lightning-like  blow  upon  the  enemy's 
right  at  Mechanicsville,  it  is  more  than  probable  that 
Lee's  military  fame  would  hardly  have  been  greater  to 
day  than  it  was  when  he  resigned  his  commission  in 
the  United  States  army  to  offer  his  services  to  Virginia. 

It  should  be  remembered  in  comparing  these  men 
that  Jackson  had,  within  a  single  month,  defeated  four 
armies,  each  greater  than  his  own,  and  all  threatening 
one  of  the  gateways  of  the  confederate  capital,  and, 
brought  to  his  superior  an  army  which  already  believed 
itself  invincible,  before  Lee  had  ever  fought  a  battle. 
The  kingly  soldier  simply  absorbed  the  relentless 
fighter's  fame,  and  until  retrospective  analysis  began 
to  separate  the  two  lives  into  their  elements,  perhaps 
unconsciously  built  up  renown  upon  his  lieutenant's 
works  and  attributes. 

We  do  not  seek  to  depreciate  Lee,  Blower.  He 
was  a  splendid  type  of  that  distinctively  southern  char 
acter  which  is  rapidly  becoming  extinct — a  type  to  be 
mourned  by  sentimentalists  and  poets,  but  whom  the 
world  will  hardly  miss  a  hundred  years  hence.  Jack 
son  was  a  type  of  that  universal  American  character 
which  puts  conviction  above  self — the  end  above  the 
means.  He  would  never  have  hesitated  when  the 
necessity  was  apparent,  to  put  slaves  into  the  field  to 


106  THE   VETEEAN   AND  HIS   PIPE. 

fight  for  their  liberty,  for  he  would  have  accounted 
such  service  a  display  of  manhood  sufficient  to  entitle 
any  slave  to  freedom.  He  would  never  have  allowed 
his  veterans  to  suffer  for  food  in  the  trenches  about 
Petersburg,  while  at  Greensboro  and  Danville  were 
stored  supplies  enough  to  last  his  army  for  a  year.  He 
would  never  have  donned  his  best  uniform  and 
mounted  his  jeweled  sword,  in  order  to  overawe  with 
a  show  of  outward  splendor  that  simple  soldier  who, 
reckless  of  everything  except  the  result,  had  pursued 
his  fleeing  enemy  with  sleepless  ardor  for  ten  days  and 
nights  only  to  stand  abashed  and  pitiful  before  the 
gaudily  bedecked  captain  of  a  vanquished  and  famish 
ing  army.  If  this  woful  duty  had  fallen  to  the  lot  of 
"Stonewall"  Jackson,  one  can  easily  imagine  with 
what  unassuming  self-forgetfulness  it  would  have  been 
performed.  He  would  have  met  his  battle-stained 
conqueror  in  a  garb  that  would  have  bespoken  his 
active  participation  in  the  tremendous  toils  his  army 
had  but  recently  endured.  He  would  not  have  posed 
for  effect.  He  would  not  have  been  engaged  in  con 
templation  of  himself  focused  in  the  camera  of  history, 
but  his  whole  thought  would  have  been  of  the  people 
whose  cause  he  had  sustained  until  the  last  extremity. 
Grant  and  Jackson  belonged  essentially  to  the  same 
type  of  American  manhood.  As  soldiers  both  were 
impassive,  self-reliant,  and  relentless.  Neither  had  or 
could  have  any  confidants  of  their  purposes.  To  a  few 
both  were  alike  warm  and  tender ;  to  the  many,  cold 
and  distant.  Both  were  zealots — one  in  the  cause  of 
the  Federal  Union,  as  the  representative  of  human 


THE   VETEEAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  107 

liberty,  and  the  other  in  the  maintenance  of  what 
he  deemed  a  divine  order.  It  is  to  this  type  of 
manhood  that  the  south  owes  not  only  the  fame  which 
clings  around  the  story  of  the  struggle  for  separation, 
but  also  the  far  more  marvelous  supremacy  which  it 
has  since  achieved  in  the  counsels  of  the  nation  whose 
allegiance  it  sought  forever  to  renounce. 
JUNE  13,  1885. 


"  PEACE    IN  THE  CLOVER-SCENTED 

AIR." 


odor  of  perique  is  in  a  modest  room  that  looks 
out  over  bright  waters,  and  traces  of  its  dark  viscid 
fiber  show  among  the  golden-brown  granules,  in  the 
pouch  which  Alice  wrought.  We  smoked  the  pipe  of 
peace  again  last  night,  Blower,  while  the  cool  breezes 
blew  softly  over  the  placid  water,  the  stars  trooped 
lazily  through  the  summer  sky,  and  lovers  loitered  on 
the  moonlit  beach.  The  strong  mephitic  odor  of 
that  curious  variety  of  the  nicotiana,  which  needs 
the  richness  of  tropical  alluvions  and  the  steaming  heat 
of  southern  seas  for  its  perfection,  speaks  always  to  my 
mind  of  that  friend  who  was  once  an  enemy,  Pascal 
Raines,  the  owner  of  Buckhead,  or,  as  it  used  to  be 
termed,  Buckhead  Lodge,  in  the  forks  of  the  Ogee- 
chee.  This  is  the  twentieth  year  that  we  have  met 
to  smoke  the  calumet  and  fill  the  ditch  of  difference 
that  absence  digs  between  us,  not  with  protestations, 
but  with  honest,  manly  assertions  of  individuality. 
Sometimes  it  has  been  a  winter  meeting,  under  the 
gray-bearded  live  oaks  on  some  romantic  hummock, 
where  the  mid-winter  skies  are  soft  as  summer,  and 
the  air  is  rich  with  the  united  fragrance  of  fruits  and 
flowers.  Again,  he  has  fled  from  the  heats  of  a  south 
ern  summer  to  the  cool  breezes  of  the  northern  main 
or  the  shadow  of  the  snow-capped  mountains  with 

108 


T-HE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  109 

their  somber  evergreen  mantle  and  cool  streams  flash 
ing  and  purling  over  the  rocks  in  its  shadow.  We 
have  hunted  and  fished  together — such  hunting  and 
fishing  as  decrepid  veterans  may  do — and  always  count 
the  week  or  month  we  spend  with  each  other  one  long 
holiday  of  healthful  thought.  When  he  goes  back  to 
his  plantation  to  "reload,"  as  he  says,  I  return  to  the 
city's  turmoil  strengthened  by  what  he  has  brought 
me  out  of  the  silence  of  his  isolation. 

We  are  a  queer  pair,  Blower,  Pascal  Raines  and  I. 
He  loves  to  smoke  perique  in  a  long-stemmed  Pow- 
hattan  or  Sally  Lun.  "On  state  occasions  only,"  as  he 
says,  does  he  indulge  this  luxury ;  but  he  is  always 
urging  me  to  mix  more  or  less  of  this  seductive  nar- 
caphthon,  with  the  spicy  leaf  grown  on  the  sunny  Pied 
mont  slopes  and  ripened  by  ambrosial  honey-dews,  with 
which  I  am  wont  to  fill  your  polished  bowl.  I  have 
thought  sometimes  that  these  contrasted  tastes  might 
be  types  of  our  respective  natures ;  but  the  fancy  is 
not  one  I  love  to  dwell  upon.  We  entered  yesterday 
on  our  annual  holiday,  and  last  night  was  our  first  com 
munion  at  which  we  broke  the  bread  of  thought  a  year 
of  silence  had  provided. 

We  are  a  queer  pair,  yet  he  is  almost  as  close  a 
friend  of  these,  my  later  years,  as  Joe  was  of  my 
earlier  days.  It  is  strange  that  it  should  be  so.  Our 
lives  were  not  shaped  by  kindred  influences,  nor  did 
we  learn  to  count  the  same  things  holy  in  our  early 
days.  With  Joe  and  me  fraternity  was  almost  as 
much  a  birthright  as  if  the  same  roof -tree  had  sheltered 
our  cradles  and  the  same  mother  nourished  us  upon  her 


110  THE   VETEEAN   AND   HIS   PIPE. 

heart.  ~VVe  were  formed  in  the  same  mold,  tempered 
by  the  same  fires.  He  was  simply  a  type  of  the  class  to 
which  I  belonged.  Thrown  together  in  boyhood,  we 
clung  as  naturally  as  magnet  and  iron.  What  Joe  said, 
I  had  already  felt ;  what  he  did  I  was  willing  to  aid 
in  doing.  All  that  made  life  worth  living  to  him,  was 
matter  of  aspiration,  also,  to  me.  We  were  sworn 
friends  by  the  mere  force  of  natural  and  apparent 
affinities. 

It  is  not  so  with  this  later  friend  who  loves  the 
heavy,  resinous  breath  of  the  dark  perique  better  than 
the  spicy  fragrance  of  the  golden  leaf  which  grows  be 
neath  the  dog-wood's  shadow.  The  smoke-wreaths 
that  curl  about  him  are  dark  and  dense  as  azure  war- 
clouds  in  comparison  with  the  pearl-fringed  circlets 
that  rise  above  your  steaming  bowl. 

He  is  Southern  to  the  core,  this  friend  of  ours, 
Blower,  and  yet  the  red  beard  and  light  brown  hair 
that  frames  his  fair,  full  face  bespeak  a  Saxon  ancestry 
that  goes  back  to  the  days  when  Gurth  wore  a  collar 
and  black-browed  Normans  lorded  it  over  blue-eyed 
churls.  It  is  a  curious  fallacy  that  even  yet  types 
the  Southern  man  to  Northern  apprehension  as  dark 
and-  saturnine  in  aspect.  The  truth  is  that  the  South 
ern  people  are  the  purest  English  stock  to  be  found 
upon  the  globe,  outside  of  England  itself.  There  is 
the  peculiar  American  lankness  of  figure,  it  is  true, 
but  the  gray-blue  English  eyes  and  neutral-tinted 
brown  hair  are  more  generally  to  be  met  with  at 
the  South  than  in  any  other  part  of  the  western  con 
tinent.  This  fact  is  not  remarkable,  though  it  seems 


THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  Ill 

almost  incredible  no  doubt,  to  those  in  whose  minds  the 
conventional  "Southerner"  is  still  extant,  and  the  real 
one  unknown.  Pascal  Raines  was  the  master  of  al 
most  unnumbered  slaves,  and  is  still  the  lord  of  many 
acres — how  many  I  do  not  know,  for  he  speaks  but 
seldom  of  these  things.  I  do  know  that  life  and 
duty  have  put  heavy  cares  upon  his  shoulders  since  the 
close  of  the  great  conflict  and  he  has  not  spared  him 
self  in  his  efforts  to  provide  for  other's  wants. 

I  thought  of  these  things  as  we  sat  together  in 
pleasant  converse  or  half-dreaming  silence  last  night, 
Blower,  and  my  thoughts  almost  unconsciously  took 
form  in  words  as  I  said  mournfully : 

"  You  are  the  last  of  one  of  the  old  Southern  fami 
lies,  are  you  not,  Pascal?" 

"  Humph,"  he  responded,  blowing  the  heavy  smoke 
impatiently  through  the  brown  mustache  which  is  be 
ginning  to  show  hints  of  gray.  "  I  am  of  an  old  enough 
family,  and  happen  to  be  the  last  male  in  the  direct 
line,  but  I  do  not  know  as  that  fact  justifies  your  dolo 
rous  tone.  Besides  I  may  yet  marry  some  fair  Yankee 
help-meet  and  bless  the  world  with  a  dozen  scions  of 
the  two  best  stocks  on  earth.  How  would  you  like 
that  notion  ?  Ha,  ha,  my  dear  Thomas  ben  Nathan, 
I  see  you  wince,  and  yet  I  am  beginning  to  look  upon 
it  as  both  a  philanthropic  and  a  patriotic  duty.  You 
yourself,  much  as  you  exult  in  the  Puritan,  are  half  in 
clined  to  mourn  the  Cavalier. 

He  has  given  me  this  quaint  appellation  in  our 
familiar  intercourse  ever  since  he  learned  my  father's 
name.  He  professes  to  see  some  curious  significance 


112  THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

in  the  juxtaposition  of  the  two  names.  I  do  not  alto 
gether  accept  his  view,  but  it  pleases  his  southern  love 
of  the  quaint,  almost  grotesque,  and  I  do  not  object. 

"I  declare,"  he  often  says,  "you  are  well  named. 
Thomas  the  doubter  is  the  son  of  Nathan  the  undoubt- 
ing — the  Yankee  that  is  springs  from  the  Yankee  that 
was.  Your  father  must  have  been  a  prophet,  Ben 
Nathan." 

This  constant  playful  reference  to  my  father,  whom 
I  especially  revered,  annoyed  me  at  first.  I  do  not 
mind  it  now,  because  it  pleases  my  friend. 

"  It  is  a  curious  thing,"  he  continued  musingly, 
"  what  notions  you  Northerners  have  of  our  c  old  South 
ern  families. '  I  have  always  been  amused  at  the  tone 
of  reverent  admiration  or  irreverent  envy  in  which  they 
are  usually  spoken  of  by  your  people.  We,  of  course, 
are  proud  of  them,  but  not  at  all  in  the  way  you  seem 
to  think.  I  am  of  kin  to  nearly  all  the  old  families  of 
Georgia,  a  dozen  South  Carolina  grandees,  and  several 
of  the  most  dubiously-descended  of  Virginia  stock. 
There  was  a  Raines  among  Oglethorpe's  advisers.  By 
the  same  token  he  got  himself  into  trouble  for  opposing 
the  introduction  of  slavery  into  the  colony,  being  de 
nounced  by  that  eighteenth  century  evangelist  White- 
field,  who  insisted  upon  slavery  both  as  a  good  invest 
ment  and  a  means  of  grace  for  the  heathen.  That  was 
what  I  call  a  comfortable  doctrine.  There  is  a  rumor 
that  the  great  preacher  expended  a  considerable  por 
tion  of  the  funds  he  had  raised  in  the  northern  colonies 
in  transplanting  slavery  into  Georgia.  I  have  never 
been  able  to  think  of  this  without  laughing.  Picture 


THE   VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  113 

to  yourself  the  saintly  sire  of  a  New  England  abolition 
ist  contributing  money  to  hire  a  South  Carolina  slave 
holder  to  move  across  the  Savannah  in  order  to  plant 
the  patriarchal  institution  securely  on  the  virgin  soil  of 
Georgia !  What  a  merry  mocker  is  time !  It  cost  the 
'Northern  colonies'  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  after 
wards,  three  hundred  and  seventy-five  thousand  of  their 
bravest,  slain  outright  in  battle,  to  undo  what  they  hired 
Whitefield  to  establish.  We  lost  as  many  more,  I  sup 
pose,  and  the  number  who  were  half  killed — who  lost 
legs  or  arms  like  us,  or  were  otherwise  battered  and 
defaced  by  war,  must  have  been  two  or  three  times  as 
many  more.  Oh,  it  was  big  interest  that  the  laches  of 
that  day  bore  in  our  time.  What  say  you  to  that 
notion,  Thomas  ben  Nathan,  thou  child  of  the  Puritan  ? 

"  It's  not  strange, "  he  went  on,  after  we  had  had 
our  quiet  laugh  at  his  grim  humor,  u  that  time  is  called 
a  whirligig.  You  see,  my  sire  was  right  and  yours  was 
probably  wrong,  on  the  very  question  on  which  w^e 
differed  so  strongly  that  each  left  a  limb  on  the  battle 
field — you  on  the  right  side  and  I  on  the  wrong  one. 

"  As  I  said,  my  ancestor  was  opposed  to  introducing 
slavery  into  Georgia  I  don't  know  anything  about 
the  ground  of  his  opposition,  and  indeed  it  does  not 
matter.  Perhaps  it  was  his  own  experience.  I  don't 
know  whether  it  was  he  or  his  father,  but  one  of  them 
had  a  bit  of  memory  that  ought  to  have  made  him  an 
enemy  of  slavery  all  his  life.  What  was  that  ?  lie 
was  brought  over  from  somewhere — Scotland  or  Eng 
land,  nobody  knows  which — and  sold  for  an  apprentice 
to  pay  passage  money  and  any  other  supposititious  claim 
8 


114  THE   VETEEAN   AND    HIS   PIPE. 

of  expenditure  the  ship's  captain  or  the  owners  may 
have  made  in  his  behalf.  That  was  in  Virginia.  Being 
a  likely  young  fellow  he  brought  a  good  price — 300 
pounds  of  tobacco,  I  have  heard.  His  master  seems  to 
have  moved  southward.  At  least,  he  himself  moved 
into  the  wilds  of  Georgia  some  time  before  Oglethorpe's 
settlement,  and  had  thriftily  pre-empted  about  half  a 
county,  right  in  the  forks  of  the  Ogeechee,  the  only 
title  he  had  being  the  good  will  of  a  Cherokee  chief,  a 
matchlock  and  his  own  nerve.  These  were  good  enough 
though.  The  gun  itself  was  a  formidable  affair.  It 
hung  over  the  mantel  in  the  house  built  on  the  site 
of  his  cabin,  until  you  folks  came  through  with  Sher 
man  about  Christmas,  1864.  There  wasn't  much  of 
anything  left  after  you  departed  on  your  winding  way 
'  down  to  the  sea.' 

"  Oh,  don't  apologize.  We've  been  over  all  that  on 
the  very  spot.  It  was  a  brilliant  movement,  conduct 
ed  with  a  laxity  of  discipline  that  would  have  been  im 
possible  to  an  army  drawn  from  any  other  people. 
That  is  all  there  was  of  it..  Sherman  had  argued  Grant 
into  a  belief  that  it  was  necessary  and  that  he  was  the 
only  man  on  earth  who  could  do  it.  As  a  military 
movement,  it  has  been  vastly  overrated  both  in  diffi 
culty  and  importance,  but  as  an  index  of  American 
character  —  of  the  actual  results  of  republican  insti 
tutions — it  cannot  be  too  highly  extolled.  There  were, 
it  is  true,  many  acts  of  pillage  and  some  needless 
destruction  of  property.  For  instance,  there  was  no 
need  to  have  taken  my  ancestor's  superannuated  fire 
lock  and  sundry  other  moveables  which  cumbered  or 


THE   VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  115 

adorned  Buckhead  Lodge,  but  it  should  always  be  re 
membered  to  the  credit  of  republican  institutions  that 
this  army  of  invasion  marched  from  Atlanta  to  the  sea, 
subsisting  itself  mainly  off  the  country  through  the 
agency  of  loosely  organized  bands  of  pillagers,  without 
any  non-combatant's  life  or  woman's  virtue  being 
placed  in  peril.  I  am  as  proud  of  this,  Thomas  ben 
Nathan,  as  you  are  of  "  Stonewall's "  exploits  on  the 
Shenandoah,  and  in  about  the  same  way,  I  suspect. 
After  all,  though,  I  must  say  that  I  don't  like  Sherman 
—not  because  Buckhead  was  in  his  path — but  because 
I  don't.  I  don't  like  Sheridan,  either.  But  if  I  must 
choose  between  stinking  fish — as  you  did  betwixt  Lee 
and  Jackson — I  will  take  the  one  I ' least  dislike  and 
say :  '  Give  me  Sheridan,  or  give  me  death, '  or,  if  it's 
just  as  handy,  put  the  alternative  first. 

"  Oh,  I  know  my  words  are  not  nicely  chosen,  but 
you  will  not  take  offense  for  you  know  just  what  I 
mean.  It  is  useless  for  any  one  who  fought  for  the 
Confederacy  to  claim  that  he  doesn't  feel  sick  and  sore 
over  those  last  days  of  its  existence.  It  makes  no  dif 
ference  what  his  opinions  may  be  now,  one  cannot  con 
template  the  destruction  of  the  social  order  in  which 
he  was  raised,  and  remember  all  that  we  did  and  suf 
fered,  without  feeling  something  akin  to  animosity 
against  the  instruments  most  actively  concerned  in  the 
most  unpleasant  phases  of  its  demise.  I  don't  believe 
Sherman  would  ever  be  well  thought  of  along  that 
line  of  march  if  he  should  live  to  rival  Methu 
selah  in  years.  Yet  he  was  kindness  itself  Avhen 
the  end  came.  It  is  really  pitiable  to  see  how 


116  THE   VETEKAN   AND    HIS   PIPE. 

ready  he  was  to  give  up  everything,  and  trust  to 
the  honor  of  a  vanquished  foe  for  the  peace  of 
the  future.  Sheridan  was  a  thousand  times  harder  of 
heart  (you  see,  Ben  Nathan,  I  cannot  help  saying '  was ' 
— all  this  was  ever  so  long  ago,  and  you  and  I  and  all 
who  had  a  hand  in  it  have  been  in  the  past  tense  for 
ages),  but  Sheridan's  cruelty  was  that  of  a  soldier.  He 
never  shut  his  eyes  on  plunder,  in  a  military  sense, 
nor  avoided  responsibility  for  destruction.  I  do  not 
think  there  is  a  more  soldierly  document  in  the  lan 
guage  than  his  report  of  the  ravages  committed 
by  his  troops  in  making  the  rich  valley  of  the 
Shenadoah  unavailable  as  a  source  of  supply  for 
our  armies  or  a  well-provided  highway  for  northern 
invasion.  He  shirked  nothing.  There  were  so 
many  mills  burned,  so  many  cattle  and  horses 
seized,  so  many  bridges  destroyed,  and  all  other 
needful  damage  done  '  by  order  of  the  General  com 
manding.  '  There  is  something  Catonian  in  its  brutal 
candor.  It  was  barbarism,  no  doubt,  but  it  was  war — 
done  in  obedience  to  orders,  and  with  a  discipline  as 
rigorous  as  that  of  the  Roman  legion.  Yes,  I  like  him 
better  than  Sherman  even  yet. 

«  Why  have  the  South  been  so  flush  of  abusive  epi 
thets  applied  to  these  men,  and  even  to  Grant  himself  $ 
Well,  it's  a  way  we  have,  you  know.  No,  it's  not  the 
result  of  war,  nor  to  any  great  extent  to  be  attributed 
to  'the  chagrin  of  defeat,'  which  you  Northern  senti 
mentalists  have  spread  out  like  a  mantle  of  charity  to 
cover  our  sins.  We  Southern  people  always  were  given 
to  speaking  rather  well  of  ourselves,  and  not  so  very 


THE   VETERAN   AND    HIS    PIPE.  117 

flatteringly  of  others.  You  of  the  North  just  reverse 
this  rule.  You  keep  soft  Avords  in  stock  for  your 
enemies  and  lavish  praise  upon  strangers,  while  you 
open  the  floodgates  of  abuse  and  detraction  on  each 
other.  You  have  always  fed  us  taffy  and  we  have 
come  to  expect  it.  In  the  old  ante-bellum  days  we 
ruled  you  with  a"  rod  of  iron,  though  you  always  out 
numbered  us,  and  if  there  had  been  among  you  any  of 
that  unity  of  purpose  that  has  always  characterized  the 
South,  whenever  it  came  to  a  question  of  asserting  her 
rights  or  her  power,  the  nation  would  have  been 
homogeneous  on  the  basis  of  Northern  sentiment  long 
ago. 

"  You  suppose  it  was  a  natural  result  of  slavery  ? 
Pshaw,  Ben  Nathan,  what  is  the  use  of  busying  your 
self  forever  in  finding  excuses  for  us.  We  don't  care 
what  made  you  Yankees  what  you  are,  and  so  do  not 
trouble  ourselves  to  discover  apologies  for  your  idiosyn- 
cracies.  We  know  that  you  pride  yourself  on  furnish 
ing  more  of  the  milk  of  human  kindness  per  capita 
than  any  other  people  on  earth,  and  we  trade  upon 
that  fact,  just  as  you  take  advantage  of  a  prospect 
of  hostilities  between  England  and  Russia  to  put 
up  the  price  of  grain.  You  are  afflicted  with  a 
mania  for  forgiveness.  For  twenty  years  you  have 
been  begging  us,  in  season  and  out  of  season,  to  allow 
you  to  forgive  us.  Strange  as  you  may  think  it,  we 
do  not  find  much  fun  in  being  forgiven.  As  to  the  active 
part  of  the  doctrine,  we  don't  know  much  about  it. 
We  don't  forgive — to  any  great  extent,  at  least.  We 
do,  sometimes,  forget  how  we  have  been  wronged ;  but 


118  THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

as  to  o wning  that  we  were  ever  in  the  wrong  ourselves, 
that  is  against  "the  genius  of  our  people."  Difficulties 
are 'healed  up 'with  us — literally.  That  is,  they  are 
left  to  grow  over.  Sometimes  the  wound  heals  and  the 
cicatrix  shows  always  afterward.  Then,  again,  the 
the  wound  unites  upon  the  outside  fair  and  smooth, 
but  rankles  underneath  to  break  out  into  angry  and 
malignant  action  after  many  days. 

"  Of  course,  you  have  at  length  worn  us  out.  One 
can  not  resist  concession  always.  After  you  had  given 
up  all  you  fought  for,  except  the  name ;  when  you  re 
nounced  all  remembrance  of  the  war  except  the 
music  and  the  '  spread-eagle ' ;  when  you  quietly 
allowed  us  to  take  away  the  ballot  you  had  so 
vauntingly  bestowed  upon  the  negro  ;  when,  instead  of 
counting  a  Southern  white  voter  better  than  a  North 
ern  citizen  by  two-fifths  as  in  the  old  slave  days,  you 
kindly  gave  us  the  odds  of  Africa  in  our  favor;  when 
after  we  had  sinned  and  had  no  wish  to  be  forgiven, 
you  put  a  club — nay  a  million  clubs,  or  the  power  of  a 
million  of  suppressed  votes,  in  our  hands — and  begged 
us  to  beat  and  subjugate  you  therewith — when  you  did 
all  this  of  your  own  free  will  and  accord,  I  assure  you, 
Ben  Nathan,  it  was  not  in  Southern  human  nature 
longer  to  resist.  We  did  what  you  invited  us  to  do, 
and  relied  upon  your  abounding  charity  to  find  excuses 
for  our  acts.  You  did  not  disappoint  our  expectations. 
We  wondered,  but  did  not  complain.  You  made  the 
role  of  injured  innocence  so  pleasant  and  profitable  that 
we  continued  to  play  it  with  renewed  zest.  We  made 
the  air  vocal,  from  year's  end  to  year's  end,  with  dolor- 


THE    VETERAN   AND    HIS   PIPE.  119 

ous  complaint  and  unmerited  sufferings.  We  kept 
your  zeal  for  pardon  so  keenly  alive  that  it  was  hardly 
safe  for  a  Southern  man  to  allow  himself  to  be 
known  as  such  at  the  North  lest  some  sensitive 
soul  should  straightway  unpack  his  box  of  charity  and 
ask  to  pour  the  sweet-smelling  ointment — the  spikenard 
of  forgiveness — upon  his  errant,  unwashed  feet.  I  be 
lieve,  Ben  Nathan,  I  would  have  gone  with  you  to 
the  General  Encampment  of  the  Grand  Army,  on 
our  way  to  the  Eangely  Lakes,  just  to  have  seen 
your  old  comrades  unhinge  your  one  arm,  and  hear 
them  sing  the  old  songs,  but  I  couldn't  risk  it.  I  was 
afraid  that  as  soon  as  they  found  out  that  it  was  a 
Yankee  shell  that  took  off  my  right-hand  supporter, 
they  would  insist  on  passing  me  round  for  the  kiss  of 
peace  and  reconciliation,  I  can't  stand  that  sort  of 
thing,  Ben  Nathan.  I  never  felt  that  I  had  much  to 
forgive,  and  I  don't  like  to  be  made  a  villain  of  by  being 
everlastingly  forgiven.  I  am  really  afraid  of  this  ob- 
trusiveness  of  pardon.  I  never  knew  two  fellows  to 
keep  on  protesting  mutual  forgiveness  who  did  not 
eventually  renew- their  quarrel.  So  I  will  hide  myself 
in  the  hills  while  you  greet  your  brethren,  if  you  must. 
"  You  must  not  be  angry,  Ben  Nathan,  but  I  do 
wish  you  Yankees  had  less  sweetness  and  a  little  more 
gall.  I  know  it  is  all  genuine,  of  course,  or  try  to 
believe  that  it  is,  because  I  know  you,  but — but  it  isn't 
easy  because  it  seems  so  unnatural  and — well,  hardly 
self-respecting.  If  you  were  right — as  you  claimed 
and  as  I  am  willing  to  admit,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned, 
and  can  now  see — why  not  stand  on  it  and  let  us  do 


120  THE   VETEKAN   AND   HIS   PIPE. 

some  of  the  "  walking."  Of  course,  we  cannot  hold  out 
always  and  when  you  gave  us  a  President  who  would 
not  fight  against  the  Confederacy  even  when  drafted, 
with  a  genuine  "Copperhead"  Yice-President  and 
a  Cabinet  containing  only  one  Federal  soldier  to  three 
Confederates  and  two  "  Copperheads,''  as  you  used  to 
call  them,  of  the  tepid,  doubting-Thomas  order,  of 
course,  it  seemed  like  old  times  and  we  were  bound  to 
profess  at  length  ourselves  satisfied  and  reconciled. 
But  you  know  it  is  all  a  farce. 

"  I  tell  you,  Ben  Nathan,  we  are  two  peoples  just  as 
much  as  you  and  I  are  two  men.  We  are  not  satisfied 
and  will  not  be  till  we  have  fortified  and  permanently 
secured  what  we  now  hold  only  as  an  outpost.  You 
will  sometime  get  tired  of  boasting  of  your  charity. 
Then  we  shall  tell  each  other  the  truth  once  more. 
"War  is  a  rough  game,  but  rifles  do  not  lie.  Lead  and 

o      o 

powder  are  sometimes  better  medicaments  for  evil 
than  spikenard  and  honey ;  and  when  two  peoples  get 
far  enough  apart  to  have  to  decide  questions  arising 
betwixt  them  with  the  sword,  it  must  be  many  a  day 
before  they  grow  into  one.  You  are  entirely  right 
in  your  opinion  of  "  Stonewall "  Jackson.  lie  was  the 
man  on  our  side,  not  because  he  alone  won  victories, 
nor  eyen  because  he  was  a  Napoleon  in  strategy  and 
marvelous  rapidity  of  execution,  but  above  all  things 
because  he  was  the  incarnation  of  the  Southern  idea. 
I  could  tell  you  something  about  him  myself ,  but  - 
pshaw,  what's  the  use  ?  The  farce  which  we  call  life 
must  be  played  out  in  order  that  the  lie  which  we  call 
histoiy  may  be  written !  " 


THE   VETEEAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  121 

Our  friend  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  pipe  upon 
the  window-sill  and  bade  us  good  night,  Blower,  before 
we  had  half  awakened  from  the  dreamy  mood  which 
the  unaccustomed  Perique  or  his  still  more  unusual 
words  had  induced.  It  is  strange  that  he  should  be  my 
friend,  Blower.  It  is  the  harmony  of  the  unlike  —  the 
unison  of  chords  that  mark  the  limits  of  consonance. 
Yet  we  can  never  doubt  the  manhood  of  this  manliest 
type  of  a  concurrent  but  dissimilar  life.  Our  friend 
ship  was  pledged  upon  the  battle-field  amid  the  dark 
ness  that  followed  on  a  doubtful  day,  in  the  picket- 
guarded  ground  which  neither  army  would  yield  to 
the  foe.  Our  first  hand-clasp  left  a  bloody  imprint  by 
which  each  attested  his  sincerity.  We  know,  Blower, 
that  a  truer,  nobler  friend  one  could  not  have.  Yet 
we  can  not  agree.  Is  it  because  there  is  an  actual, 
irreconcilable  difference  —  an  indefinable  right  and 
wrong  —  that  lies  between  us,  or  do  we  think  in  differ 
ent  planes  which  overlap  but  do  not  meet  ? 

JUNE  26,  1885. 


"THE  DAY  WE  CELEBKATE." 


FOB  the  first  time,  Blower,  our  great  national  holi 
day  finds  me  in  a  state  of  curious  uncertainty  in 
regard  to  the  future  that  is  to  grow  out  of  our  marvel 
ous  past.  In  those  early  days  when  the  people  gath 
ered  in  exultant  but  serious  convocation  in  every 
hamlet  in  the  land ;  when  old  and  young  and  rich  and 
poor  assembled,  perhaps  in  the  house  of  God,  perhaps 
in  that  temple  of  liberty  which  our  Puritan  forefathers 
builded  in  stern  simplicity  on  every  village  green  — the 
town-house  where  met  the  wittenagemote  in  which  the 
statesmen  of  the  past  were  trained  —  or  in  those  other, 
nobler  temples  still,  whose  aisles  were  canopied  with 
verdure,  through  which  the  sunshine  sent  its  golden 
shafts,  and  through  the  interstices  of  which  the  blue 
sky  smiled  down  serene  approval  —  in  those  days  we 
could  not  doubt.  The  voice  of  pi\oyer  and  the 
eloquence  of  an  intense,  if  somewhat  boastful,  patriot 
ism  stamped  upon  the  boyish  heart  a  reverence  for  the 
day  which  marks  the  nation's  birth  that  no  lapse  of 
time  or  frost  of  age  can  ever  dim.  Next  to  the  Christ 
cradled  in  the  manger,  in  our  boyish  reverence,  was 
the  nation  cradled  in  the  wilds  of  a  new  world.  In 
our  childish  fancy  the  courage,  fortitude  and  wisdom' 
of  our  fathers  in  building  a  government  upon  these 
shores  based  upon  a  principle  never  before  practically 
recognized  in  political  organization,  was  only  less  mar- 

123 


THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  123 

velous  than  that  creative  power  which  looked  on 
chaos  and  said :  "  Let  there  be  light ! " 

This  impression  was  made  more  vivid  by  the  simple 
but  unusual  pageantry  which  attended  this  celebration. 
The  fumes  of  gunpowder  seemed  fit  incense  to  offer  to 
the  manes  of  heroes  whose  memories  we  worshiped. 
The  cannon's  roar  was,  to  our  ears,  the  proud  defiance 
which  liberty  heralded  through  its  brazen  lips  to  a 
hostile  but  admiring  world.  The  bright  banner  that 
floated  gaily  in  the  summer  sunshine  was  to  us  the 
emblem  of  a  new  dispensation,  not  less  certainly  divine 
than  that  which  the  Invisible  traced  on  tables  of  stone 
on  the  cloud-curtained  summit  of  Sinai,  or  that  which 
fell  from  the  lips  of  the  golden-haired  Galilean  on  the 
sunny  slopes  of  Olivet.  How  reverently  we  gazed 
upon  the  "  venerable  men  who  had  come  down  to  us 
from  a  former  generation ! "  How  the  orator's  glow 
ing  periods  fired  our  young  hearts  to  emulate  the  deeds 
of  those  whose  wisdom  and  prowess  we  felt  it  a  glori 
ous  privilege  to  worship  even  afar  off !  With  all  this, 
the  unaccustomed  tumult,  the  drum,  the  fife,  perhaps  a 
uniformed  brass  band,  the  awkward  evolutions  of  ill- 
trained  but  gaily-clad  militia,  the  universal  freedom 
from  restraint,  and  mirthful  license,  queerly  wedded 
with  serious  purpose  and  high  resolve !  This  was  the 
Fourth  of  July  of  our  boyhood,  Blower. 

We  recall  it  with  a  queer  shamefacedness  to-day— 
we,  in  whose  hearts  its  memory  still  lives,  almost  as 
much  a  thing  of  sorrow  as  of  joy.  I  would  not  for  the 
world,  old  friend,  tell  the  story  of  the  aspirations  it 
inspired  to  the  wise  and  cynical  children  of  to-day. 


124  THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS   PIPE. 

How  would  they  not  sneer,  Blower,  at  the  thought  of 
grave  men  and  serious-minded  matrons  sitting  with 
earnest  faces,  perhaps  even  with  quivering  lips,  to  hear 
"  the  old,  old  story "  of  that  time  when 

"Men  went  forth 
To  plant  the  seed  with  tears," 

and  of  the  wonderful  harvest  which  a  kindly  Provi 
dence  vouchsafed.  We  would  not  think  of  telling 
them  how  fierce  a  battle  Joe  and  I  once  fought,  under 
the  inspiration  of  this  day,  with  twelve  fire-crackers 
and  a  lead  cannon,  which  we  cast  about  a  wooden  core 
in  a  paper  mold,  with  as  much  care  and  probably  more 
anxiety  than  Herr  Krupp  ever  bestowed  upon  a  hun 
dred-ton  gun.  Not  for  a  king's  ransom  would  we  have 
the  high-school  children,  whose  commencement  exer 
cises  we  last  night  witnessed,  know  that,  at  their  age, 
our  days  were  full  of  silly  thoughts  and  our  nights  of 
sillier  dreams  of  noble  deeds  that  waited  to  be  done 
—  of  that  liberty  for  which  our  fathers  fought  made 
more  complete,  and  the  nation  they  established  made 
more  glorious  and  more  free  by  our  endeavor.  The 
hot  blood  rushes  to  the  cheek  which  nevermore  will 
lose  the  brawn  it  caught  when  banners  waved  and 
trumpets  clanged,  at  the  very  thought  of  the  calm 
scorn  with  which  the  youth  of  to-day,  who  delights  in 
nothing  so  much  as  in  decrying  our  institutions,  would 
sneer  at  such  sentimentality.  There  is  something  as 
holy  as  the  memory  of  a  dead  love  to  us,  Blower,  in 
that  peculiar  intermixture  of  patriotic  and  religious 
aspiration  which  characterized  the  thought  of  that 
time.  Christmas  and  the  Fourth  of  July  were,  per- 


THE    VETEBAN   AND    HIS   PIPE.  125 

haps,  no  nearer  together  than  they  are  to-day,  but  both 
seemed  tinged  with  an  earnestness  of  tone  that  is 
somehow  lacking  in  the  present.  It  was  an  atmosphere 
that  did  not  favor  doubt.  Men  believed  so  strongly 
that  they  have  lived  to  wonder  at  the  fervor  of  their 
faith,  and  marvel  at  the  grandeur  of  their  aspiration. 

Something  of  this  —  as  much  as  my  lips  could  well 
utter,  Blower — I  told  last  night  to  our  friend  that  was 
once  an  enemy,  Pascal  Raines,  expressing  the  belief 
that  Joe's  life  and  thought  were  largely  shaped  by 
the  serious  and  earnest  observance  of  this  national 
anniversary;  and  venturing  the  hope  that  its  continu 
ous  and  universal  observance,  in  the  future,  would 
exert  a  very  great  and  beneficent  influence  on  the 
fortune  of  our  curiously  re-united  realm.  "  Indeed,"  I 
said  at  length,  made  bolder  by  his  silence,  "  I  think 
this  universal  holiday,  dedicated  to  liberty,  heroism  and 
patriotic  devotion,  observed,  as  it  is  sure  to  be  in  some 
sort  of  way,  by  rich  and  poor  and  high  and  low,  of 
every  race  and  creed,  in  every  corner  of  our  land,  cannot 
fail  to  exert  a  very  powerful  influence  upon  coming 
generations  and  incline  them  to  unity  of  thought  and 
aspiration,  by  the  mere  force  of  a  common  inheritance 
of  fame." 

I  said  this  anxiously,  Blower,  for  somehow  I  dreaded 
to  expose  my  cherished  theory  of  sentimental  assimila 
tion  and  peaceful  unification  of  discordant  elements 
through  the  gentle  compulsion  of  a  common  tradition, 
to  the  analysis  and  criticism  of  this  almost  too  honest 
friend.  He  was  silent  for  a  long  time,  looking  out 
upon  the  blue  waters  where  the  gibbous  moon  and 


126  THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE. 

silvered  cloud-peaks  were  reflected  in  a  waveless  mirror. 
Clouds  of  heavy,  perfumed  smoke  came  from  his  lips. 
His  face  grew  fixed,  and  the  lids  drooped  sadly  over 
the  brave,  true  eyes. 

"  '  Dream  of  dreamers  since  the  morn 
When  the  dreamer  Hope  was  born/  " 

he  murmured  at  length,  in  an  absent  tone  as  if  he  had 
forgotten  me  and  my  theory.  I  waited  a  while  to  see 
if  he  would  continue  and  then  asked  : 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? " 

"The  ineradicable  propensity  of  the  sentimental 
philosopher  to  believe  that  whatever  of  good  he  desires 
will  certainly  come  to  pass  because  in  his  view  of  'the 
eternal  fitness  of  things'  it  ought  to  be,"  he  answered 
with  a  smile.  "  Your  genuine  optimist  will  stop  at  no 
absurdity.  He  vaults  lightly  over  obstacles  which 
reason  declares  insuperable,  and  relies  with  the  utmost 
assurance  upon  causes  that  common  sense  shows  to  be 
uttterly  inadequate.  Yet  he  is  oftener  right  than 
wrong.  A  belief  in  one's  ability  to  overcome  obstacles 
oftentimes  not  only  implies,  but  actually  constitutes, 
the  power  to  do  so.  Do  you  know,  Ben  Nathan,  that 
this  attribute  was  the  real  source  of  that  hero's  power 
who  is  now  fighting  his  last  battle  on  Mount  McGregor? 
I  have  always  had  a  quarrel  with  you  Northern  people, 
for  failing  to  appreciate  this  man  to  whom  you  owe  so 
much. 

"  I  do  not  like  him  because  he  was  the  instrument  of 
our  humiliation.  A  man  may  surrender  in  good  faith, 
and  yet  not  love  the  things  which  remind  him  of  that 
fact.  One  may  even  admit  himself  to  have  been  wrong 


THE   VETEKAN   AND   HIS    PIPE.  127 

and  kiss  the  rod  of  chastisement,  without  having  any 
very  warm  feeling  for  the  rod  itself.  Despite  all  your 
curious  northern  theories,  Ben  Nathan,  chastening  and 
even  penitence,  constitutes  a  very  poor  soil  in  which  to 
grow  the  tender  shoots  of  love.  The  smarting  back 
may  promote  humility,  but  the  whipping-post  is  not  a 
favorite  trellis  for  the  vine  of  affection. 

"  Yet  I  verily  believe  that  we  are  more  inclined  to  do 
justice  to  your  great  hero  than  the  people  of  the  North 
themselves.  You  have  never  more  than  half  appreci 
ated  Grant  because  he  simply  lived  his  own  life  without 
affectation  or  servility.  He  did  not  choose  to  efface 
himself  because  he  happened  to  be  a  public  servant. 
Nay,  I  do  not  think  he  could  have  done  so,  for  his 
simple  heart  had  no  idea  that  this  was  what  your 
tyranny  required.  All  the  same  he  would  not  dance 
whenever  you  chose  to  pipe,  and  so  you  half  disap 
proved  your  own  best  military  exemplar.  You  want 
your  heroes  to  be  like  the  monsters  in  a  museum  — 
forever  on  exhibition  for  the  public  entertainment. 
You  would  be  willing  to  put  them  in  golden  cages 
and  keep  them  sleek  and  fat,  if  only  they  would  allow 
themselves  to  be  punched  with  parasols  and  singed 
with  cigar  stumps,  roaring  softly  now  and  then,  for 
the  amusement  of  the  women  and  children. 

"  There  he  lies  at  Mount  McGregor  now.  You  note 
the  stubbornness  with  which  he  resists  the  last  great  foe's 
approaches,  and  occasionally  speak  of  the  pluck  he 
displays  in  these  last  hours,  but  your  hearts  are 
not  wrung  with  sorrow,  and  you  hardly  seem  to 
be  aware  that  you  are  losing  a  man  whose  peer 


128  THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE. 

the  nation  may  not  see  again  in  centuries.  Look 
at  the  heaps  of  circulars,  the  myriads  of  advertise 
ments  of  entertainment  for  to-morrow.  Think  how 
you  people — the  liberty-loving,  self-complacent  North 
—  will  celebrate  the  Fourth  of  July  —  the  "Nation's 
birthday,"  as  you  love  to  call  it !  Excursions  by  the 
thousand  on  the  water  and  on  the  land,  dinners,  dances, 
picnics,  horse  races,  ball  games,  rowing  matches  — 
everything  conceivable  except  a  gathering  for  any 
earnest  purpose  or  with  any  patriotic  tone.  At  how 
many  of  these  meetings  where  your  people  will  assemble 
to-morrow  do  you  suppose  Grant's  name  will  be  men 
tioned,  or  the  sufferings  of  the  greatest  of  your  heroes 
be  given  a  single  thought,  unless,  indeed,  kind  Azrael 
should  lay  his  finger  on  the  patient  heart  to-night !  In 
that  event  some  thousands  of  your  fellow  veterans  would 
mourn,  but  the  great  bulk  of  the  fresh  life  which  must 
make  up  your  to-morrow,  would  note  the  fact  only  to 
carp  at  such  inconsiderate  marring  of  their  holiday. 

"  Suppose  it  were  our  Lee  who  had  thus  fought  for 
months  with  death,  and  was  now  dying  in  sight  of  his 
people !  We  are  not  much  on  alms,  and  charity,  and 
reform,  Ben  Nathan,  but  we  stand  by  our  own  through 
thick  and  thin,  and  are  proud  to  honor  those  whose 
deeds  have  honored  us.  In  Lee's  case  the  agony  was 
brief,  but  the  South  hardly  breathed  between  the  first 
announcement  of  his  peril  and  the  proclamation  of  his 
death.  Our  heroes  are  as  household  gods  —  reverently 
worshiped  in  every  home;  yours  as  bric-a-brac  pur 
chased  at  auction  and  valued  only  for  its  cost,  rarity 
and  ornamental  character ! 


THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  129 

"  As  I  said,  Grant,  as  a  military  leader,  was  an  opti 
mist  of  the  most  intense  and  unreasoning  sort.  He 
never  anticipated  failure  nor  made  any  preparation  for 
defeat.  If  he  met  with  a  repulse  he  replied  with  an  at 
tack.  Having  decided  to  undertake  a  task,  no  matter 
how  impracticable  it  seemed,  he  never  thought  it  possible 
that  he  could  fail.  Coolly  considered,  no  more  fool 
hardy  thing  was  ever  attempted  than  the  capture  of 
Donelson  by  storm  with  the  force  under  his  command. 
But  the  fact  that  he  thought  he  could  do  it,  made  it 
possible  to  this  man,  to  whom  to  believe  was  to  accom 
plish.  Look  again  at  the  dislodgement  of  Bragg's  army 
from  Missionary  Ridge,  by  assault.  Who  but  Grant 
would  have  attempted  it  ?  Who  but  he  would  have 
believed  it  possible?  I  was  there  and  saw  it,  Ben 
Nathan !  Saw  that  thin  line  scale  that  circling  ridge 
as  sharp-pitched  as  a  gothic  roof  —  four  hundred  feet  of 
shingly  slope  broken  only  by  two  lines  of  breastworks 
which  it  would  have  required  no  little  nerve  to  storm 
on  an  open  plain,  and  held  as  they  were  by  an  army 
not  greatly  inferior  to  his  own  in  numbers !  Gods !  It 
was  a  miracle  I  would  never  have  believed  i  without 
the  sensible  and  true  avouch  of  mine  own  eyes ! '  I 
could  hardly  believe  it,  even  as  I  fled  down  the  flinty 
path  that  led  rearward  from  Bragg's  headquarters, 
\vith  a  routed  rabble  at  my  heels,  leaving  the  horse  by 
which  I  had  stood  and  watched  the  wondrous  pageant, 
to  furnish  some  lucky  Yankee  a  mount  in  lieu  of  his 
grass-fed  barebones  lost  at  Chickamauga.  Perhaps  you 
got  it  Ben  Nathan,  and  my  despatches,  too.  You  did  ? 
Well,  I  am  glad  it  fell  into  appreciative  hands. 
9 


130  THE   VETERAN    AND    HIS    TIPE. 

"What  did  it?  Grant's  optimism  —  nothing  else 
That  was  unquestionably  the  strongest  position  an  army 
ever  held.  Even  after  the  abandonment  of  Lookout, 
fifty  thousand  men  ought  to  have  kept  it  against  four 
times  their  number.  The  flanks  were  easily  defensible 
and  the  front  impregnable  by  nature.  Every  man  in 
those  triple  lines  of  works  knew  this,  and  I  believe  it 
was  the  astounding  audacity  of  the  attempt  that  para 
lyzed  their  energies  and  transformed  them  on  the  in 
stant,  from  valiant  soldiers  into  panic-stricken  fugitives. 
In  the  open  plain  beneath,  Grant  had  marched  and 
countermarched,  for  three  days,  his  splendidly  equipped 
host,  in  sight  of  every  man  in  our  army.  These  men 
had  asked  in  wonder,  does  he  mean  to  assault  ?  With 
the  conclusion  that  he  did  came  the  almost  irresistible 
conviction  that  only  the  certainty  of  overlapping  the 
unassailable  flanks  and  entrapping  them  in  their  secure 
fastness  could  induce  an  attempt  so  apparently  futile. 
It  was  optimism  against  Gibraltar,  and  optimism  won ! 

"  I  have  a  great  respect  for  optimism,  Ben  Nathan,  as 
you  see.  It  is  a  wonderful  quality  in  a  military 
leader,  and  in  all  lines  of  effort  works  miracles ;  but  in 
order  to  do  so  it  must  be  of  the  active  transitive  sort. 
Doing  must  go  hand-in-hand  with  believing.  In  the 
directing  mind  it  is  a  power  no  wit  can  measure ;  in 
the  individual  it  is  nothing  unless  he  is  a  type  of  all  his 
fellows.  Grant  was  both  type  and  leader.  General 
and  soldiers  were  both  wild  enthusiasts,  whose  chief 
strength  lay  in  the  fact  that  they  believed.  You  were 
an  atom  then,  Ben  Nathan,  standing  shoulder  to  shoul 
der  with  myriads  of  other  atoms  of  like  temper.  You 


THE   VETEKAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  131 

willed  and  did,  because  of  this  belief  in  your  collective 
power  to  do. 

"  Even  this  seemingly  impossible  victory,  however, 
was  no  such  optimistic  miracle  as  you  propose.  Is  it 
possible  that  you  think  such  a  Fourth  of  July  as  you 
will  see  to-morrow  can  ever  constitute  the  pabulum  on 
which  a  virile  patriotism  is  likely  to  thrive  ?  Under 
stand  me,  I  am  not  inclined  to  complain.  I  can  see 
how  it  hurts  you. 

"  For  myself  I  do  not  believe  strongly  enough  in 
either  phase  of  the  Puritanic  ideal  to  suffer  very  acutely 
at  the  desecration  of  the  day.  Theoretically,  I  admit 
the  correctness  of  your  view  as  to  the  parity  of  human 
right,  but  practically  —  well,  Ben  Nathan,  you  know 
how  I  feel.  If  I  dwelt  in  the  atmosphere  you  breathe 
I  think  I  should  soon  feel  as  you  do.  If  you  were  in 
my  place  you  would  never  feel  as  I  do,  I  admit,  but  you 
would  be  just  as  weak  and  helpless  in  the  face  of  the' 
great  fact  of  essential  difference.  To  admit  the  right 
in  the  abstract,  is  one  thing ;  to  reduce  it  to  practice 
in  the  concrete,  quite  another.  Law  matters  little 
so  long  as  it  remains  a  deal!  letter.  The  real  facts  lie 
deeper  than  laws  and  forms  can  go.  Primal  causes 
may  have  been  removed,  but  effects  remain,  fixed  and 
rooted  by  generations  of  divergent  growth. 

"  It  does  not  hurt  me,  therefore,  to  see  the  serious 
festival,  with  its  flavor  of  Puritanic  cant,  changed  into 
a  day  of  universal  merry-making.  In  fact,  I  may  say 
it  pleases  me,  for  it  shows  that  you  people  of  the  North 
are  getting,  year  by  year,  further  and  further  aivay 
from  the  stern,  dour,  self-depreciating  cant  of  Puritan- 


132  THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE. 

ism  which  left  its  stamp  upon  your  life  —  in  short,  that 
you  of  the  North  are  changing  faster  than  we  of  the 
South  could  possibly  be  changed.  I  fancy  that  some 
instinctive  appreciation  of  this  fact  is  at  the  bottom  of 
your  curious  notion  that  the  Southern  people  are  under 
going  a  miraculous  transformation.  It  seems  to  me, 
sometimes,  as  if  you  looked  upon  us  as  just  emerging 
from  the  chrysalid  and  anticipated  the  swift  develop 
ment  of  angelic  pinions  on  our  regenerated  essences. 
Why  should  not  you  change  as  well  as  we  ?  Indeed, 
why  should  not  you  change  rather  than  we  ?  You  are 
used  to  it.  You  have  welcomed  the  outcast  until  "  the 
uttermost  parts  of  the  earth  "  have  spawned  upon  you 
and  well-nigh  overwhelmed  you.  We  are  not  fond  of 
strangers.  We  do  not  believe  in  "  breeding  down."  We 
took  our  dose  of  old-world  scum  all  at  once  —  took  it 
early,  and  have  assimilated  it  thoroughly.  We  have  a 
race  that  is  almost  homogeneous.  The  Southern  man 
is  unmistakable  and  inimitable.  No  length  of  resi 
dence  can  make  the  man  of  foreign  or  northern  birth 
one  of  us  or  indistinguishable  among  us.  The  white 
people  of  the  South  are  a  real  people  —  one  having 
marked  and  striking  characteristics  common  to  them 
all. 

"  You  of  the  North  are  a  medley.  You  have  tried 
to  assimilate  the  world's  life  and  lost  your  own  identity. 
You  are  cosmopolitan  in  the  sense  that  chowder  is 
homogeneous.  Its  components  are  infinite,  and  its 
resultant  unlike  anything  that  ever  was  before.  At 
first  you  Yankee-ized  the  jetsam  of  the  old  world, 
almost  the  instant  that  it  touched  vour  shores.  Now, 


THE    VETEEAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  133 

it  is  doubtful  whether  the  original  type  will  not  very 
soon  be  lost.  Already  it  has  ceased  to  be  a  controlling 
force  in  the  land.  You  are  hardly  past  middle  age, 
my  friend,  but  you  are  a  type  of  an  almost  extinct 
species.  If  it  were  put  to  a  vote  in  the  Northern  States 
to-day,  they  would  not  give  the  negro  the  ballot  even 
after  twenty  years  of  growth  and  development  on  his 
part.  We  of  the  South  are  steadfast;  you  are  the 
changelings.  Perchance  you  will  yet  come  to  us  as  you 
fondly  fancy  we  are  now  coming  to  you. 

"  But  why,  in  the  name  of  heaven,  Ben  Nathan, 
should  you  get  the  idea  that  the  Fourth  of  July  —  and 
by  that  I  mean  your  old  Fourth  instinct  with  the  sent 
iment  of  liberty,  equality,  and  divine  right — why  should 
you  think  that  this  common  inheritance  of  freedom  and 
glory  to  be  stronger  now  than  it  was  a  quarter  of  a 
century  ago  ?  We  had  your  Fourth  of  July,  in  the  ante 
bellum  days,  and  observed  it  very  much  as  you  did. 
There  was,  perhaps,  not  quite  so  much  cant,  but  in  de 
fault  of  that  I  think  we  had  a  little  more  '  buncombe.' 
There  was  another  difference,  too.  You  enlarged  upon 
and  developed  the  individual  idea  embodied  in  the  Decla 
ration  of  Independence.  We  were  content  to  celebrate 
the  collective  results  of  the  struggle.  To  the  Northern 
mind,  that  document  became  at  length  the  first  step  in 
a  universal  revolution  for  the  establishment  and  equali 
zation  of  human  rights.  To  us,  it  was  enough  that  it 
was  the  initial  step  in  the  establishment  of  a  new  sov 
ereignty.  With  our  steadfastness  of  purpose  and  hos 
tility  to  innovation  we  adhered  very  closely  to  the 
original  idea  of  our  revolution  itself.  With  vour  in- 


134  THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

satiable  greed  for  change  and  restless  desire  for  im 
provement,  the  idea  became  cumulative,  and  the  Fourth 
of  July  came  to  represent  to  you  the  past,  present,  and 
future  of  human  perfectibility.  You  twisted,  construed 
and  added  to  the  florid  rhetoric  of  the  *  Declaration ' 
until  it  contained,  or  implied,  all  that  you  dreamed  that 
humanity  might  sometime  possess  of  liberty,  including, 
if  I  may  say  so,  not  a  little  of  license. 

"To  you,  the  new  Fourth  of  July  represents  a 
broader,  nobler  freedom  and  a  grander  nationality  than 
the  old  one  could.  But  with  us  —  ah,  well,  our  dead  — 
dead  brothers  and  still  ghastlier  hopes  —  lie  heaped  be 
tween  us  and  the  old  one  still !  The  Fourth  of  July 
that  is  observed  in  your  heart,  my  friend,  must  of  ne 
cessity  be  gall  and  wormwood  —  dust  and  ashes  —  in  the 
mouth  of  the  Southern  man  for  generations.  The  very 
results  which  have  endeared  its  sentiment  to  your  ap 
prehension  recall  his  own  humiliation,  or  still  worse, 
his  fathers's  degradation.  I  have  gone  further  than 
most  of  them  in  self-renunciation.  I  freely  admit  that 
you  were  right  and  we  were  Avrong ;  but  I  don't  care 
to  hear  the  fact  proclaimed  or  know  that  it  is  being 
celebrated.  I  don't  mind  a  Fourth  of  July  made  np 
of  horse-races  and  base-ball  games,  but  if  we  were 
likely  to  have  one  of  your  old-time  earnest  and  intense 
affairs,  with  Yorktown  and  Appomattox  in  the  same 
leash,  I  swear  to  you,  Ben  Nathan,  I  would  take  the 
next  train  to  Canada  and  stay  until  the  hot  weather 
had  wilted  the  patriotism  it  evoked. 

"  Besides  that,  my  friend,  you  have  made  the  Fourth 
of  July  especially  and  essentially  a  '  niggers' '  day. 


THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  135 

4  You  don't  see  how  2 '  I  suppose  not.  It  is  surprising 
how  little  plain  fact  a  Yankee  can  see,  when  it  conflicts 
with  his  pet  theories.  Can't  you  see  that  your  Fourth  of 
July  is  the  very  apotheosis  of  individual  liberty  and 
equality  of  right  ?  If  the  negro  hasn't  u  the  first  call "  in 
the  glorification  of  that  idea  I  would  like  to  know  who 
has.  Wouldn't  I  appear  to  good  advantage  scraping 
the  leading  violin  in  such  a  demonstration,  and  leaving 
.blind  Tom,  the  black  philosopher  Avho  weaves  baskets 
in  my  kitchen,  to  play  second  fiddle  ?  I  doir  t  "  bank  on  " 
my  modesty,  as  you  Northern  people  claim  to  do,  but 
I  can't  help  admitting  that  if  we  have  got  to  have  that 
kind  of  a  Fourth  of  July,  Tom's  place  is  in  the  lead. 
lie  owes  everything  to  the  idea  it  represents,  while  I  — 
well,  honestly,  I  cannot  see  what  the  average  white 
man  of  the  South  owes  it  in  the  line  of  good- will.  My 
children,  or  grandchildren,  if  I  should  have  any,  may 
possibly  be  better  off  —  have  more  enjoyment  and  a 
truer  happiness,  I  mean  —  than  they  would  have  been 
but  for  your  victory.  I  don't  see  how  they  could, 
though.  The  fact  is,  Sambo  has  captured  the  Fourth 
of  July.  We  can't  celebrate  it  ivith  him  and  it  won't 
do  to  leave  him  out  of  its  observance.  Even  '  bun 
combe'  cannot  glorify  to  the  negro's  face  the  sacred 
privileges  we  refuse  to  allow  him  to  exercise.  Don't 
you  see,  Ben  ^Nathan,  that  just  as  long  as  your  beauti 
ful  theory  cannot  be  reduced  to  practice,  instead  of 
acting  as  an  emolient,  it  is  bound  to  be  a  most  caustic 
irritant  ? " 

It  does  seem,  Blower,  as  if  there  was  something  of 
method   in  the  outspoken  madness  of   our  Southern 


136  THE   VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

friend.  Is  it  possible  that  right  has  its  vanishing 
point?  Do  faith  and  doubt  somewhere  become  indis 
tinguishable  ?  Is  it  true  that  the  assertion  of  abstract 
right  sometimes  becomes,  in  the  concrete,  an  actual 
wrong  ?  Is  it  true  that  while  the  colored  man  rejoices, 
the  white  man  of  the  South  must  mourn  ?  Is  freedom 
right,  and  equality  of  pOAver  the  true  basis  of  govern 
ment  ;  or  is  the  old-time  Fourth  of  July  only  calculated 
for  higher  latitudes  and  for  men  with  white  skins  ?  I 
cannot  answer,  Blower,  for  the  truth  that  Yesterday 
poured  forth  its  blood  to  establish,  To-day  counts  al 
most  unworthy  of  consideration.  The  guns  are  boom 
ing  for  the  birth-day!  What  is  the  story  that  they  tell  ? 
JULY  3,  1885. 


THE  HAEMONY   OF  DISAGKEE- 
MENT. 


~TTT~E  did  not  go  to  Portland,  where  onr  brethren  of 
V  V  the  Grand  Army —  our  sometime  comrades  —  are 
assembled  now  in  camp,  for  a  variety  of  reasons,  Blower. 
First  among  them  may  be  noted  the  fact  that  we  pre 
ferred  the  company  of  one  "  enemy,"  as  Pascal  Raines 
persists  in  designating  himself,  to  many  friends,  and 
the  certainties  of  actual  bass  to  the  uncertainties  of 
possible  salmon.  So  we  still  linger  by  the  blue  lake 
whose  waters  yield  us  day  by  day  the  relaxation  of  fine 
sport  and  the  solitude  which  two  earnest  minds  make 
populous  with  contrasted  thought.  The  harmony  of 
disagreement  still  prevails  betwixt  us,  Blower,  and  we 
not  only  fight  over,  at  the  lunch  hour,  on  the  cushion 
ing  grass,  beneath  the  sheltering  elms  that  stand  sentry- 
like  in  the  encircling  meadows,  or  at  evening  on  the 
breezy  porch,  the  battles  of  yesterday,  but  mark  out 
the  lines  of  to-morrow's  conflicts. 

There  is  no  sham  about  Pascal  Raines.  He  is  one 
of  those  inconceivable  things  to  the  average  Northern 
mind  —  a  Southern  man  who  never  held  an  office  and 
who  has  no  fancy  for  a  title.  He  was  one  of  the  many 
who  did  not  favor  an  appeal  to  arms,  believing 
that  it  would  be  unsuccessful;  but  who  offered  his 
services  among  the  first,  because  he  would  not  have 

137 


138  THE   VETEEAN   AND   HIS   PIPE. 

any  one  think  him  a  laggard  in  defending  what  were 
deemed  the  rights  of  his  section.  He  refused  prefer 
ment  again  and  again,  and  only  yielded  to  the  tide  of 
proffered  honors  when  imperatively  ordered  to  report 
for  duty  on  the  staff  of  a  great  leader  with  desig 
nated  rank.  He  fully  justified  the  sagacity  which 
directed  his  appointment.  He  is  one  of  those  curious 
combinations  of  trooper  and  philosopher  which  the 
Southern  planter  life  seems  only  to  produce  in  perfec 
tion.  He  was  of  that  rare  coterie  which  embrace  a 
large  portion  of  the  subalterns  of  the  Confederate 
army,  who  fought  the  Union  forces  by  day,  and  at 
night  discussed  with  each  other  the  principles  and 
theory  of  Federal  government,  and  mapped  out  the 
destiny  of  those  twin  republics  they  hoped  to  see  grow 
and  prosper  on  the  American  continent,  one  of  which 
they  were  engaged  in  founding  in  opposition  to  the 
demands  of  the  other. 

"  For  six  months,"  he  said  the  other  night,  "  I  served 
in  front  of  Petersburg  on  one  leg,  reading  Victor  Hugo, 
discussing  the  Federal  Constitution  and  wondering  by 
turns  whether  it  would  be  my  luck  to  be  hanged  or 
shot ;  all  the  time  on  half  rations,  in  a  mud-daubed  hut 
just  big  enough  for  four  men  to  inhabit  horizontally, 
with  the  shells  "flying  about  us  every  time  you  fellows 
got  a  fit  of  ill  temper  —  when  your  mail  was  behind 
time,  or  your  pork  and  beans  not  done  to  a  turn  for 
Sunday's  breakfast." 

He  thinks  it  was  a  very  different  thing  to  be  a  soldier 
of  the  Confederacy  and  a  supporter  of  the  Union  ;  and 
I  am  not  sure  that  he  is  not  right,  and  that  the  differ- 


THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  139 

ence  continues  to  this  day.  What  he  terms  that 
"curious  exhibition  of  Northern  notions  "  which  called 
for  the  appointment  of  two  thousand  extra  police  in  the 
provincial  doAvn-east  city  where  the  general  encamp 
ment  was  to  be  held,  and  actually  proposed  the  seizure 
and  inspection  of  every  package  sent  by  express  to  an 
old  soldier  in  the  camp,  from  apprehension  that  it 
might  contain  alcoholic  stimulants,  contrary  to  "the 
constitution  and  the  laws  of  the  good  State  of  Maine," 
not  only  amused  him  greatly,  but  moved  him  to  a  com 
parison  of  the  two  peoples,  especially  as  regards  their 
relations  to  the  men  who  fought  at  their  behest. 

"  You  will  pardon  me,  Ben  Nathan,"  he  said,  as  we 
smoked  our  evening  pipes  upon  the  porch,  "  if  I  say 
that  you  Yankees  keep  me  in  a  constant  flutter  of  alter 
nate  admiration  and  disgust.  Just  as  soon  as  I  have 
gotten  myself  well  reconciled  to  the  fact  that  we  are  of 
the  same  breed  and  elected  to  the  same  destiny,  you 
are  sure  to  do  something  that  seems  to  me  so  unmanly 
and  contemptible  that  I  turn  again  to  the  contempla 
tion  of  the  differences  between  us  and  am  grateful  not 
only  for  the  fate  that  has  made  us  two  peoples,  but 
for  the  unalterable  conditions  that  must  forever  keep  us 
distinct." 

"  But  are  they  unalterable '( "  I  insisted  on  inquiring, 
in  a  tone  which  must  have  expressed  my  firm  convic 
tion  that  they  are  not. 

"Now,  my  friend,"  exclaimed  he  impatiently, 
"what  is  the  use  of  trying  to  shirk  the  inevitable  1  It 
took  you  a  long  time  to  get  far  enough  from  your  early 
notions  to  recognize  the  fact  that  the  war  was  not  an 


14:0  THE    VETEKAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

accident,  nor  a  move  in  a  political  game,  but  a  natural 
and  forceful  expression  of  the  fact  that  we  had  been 
two  peoples  instead  of  one  —  that  two  antagonistic 
forces,  two  mutually  destructive  ideas,  had  been  incar 
nated  in  populations  curiously  like  and  yet  irreconcil 
ably  unlike,  within  our  national  limits.  You  resisted 
manfully,  but  you  came  to  my  ground  at  length  on  this 
question.  At  the  same  time,  by  some  subtle  alchemy 
which  I  can  not  understand,  I  found  my  own  ideas 
undergoing  a  strange  transformation.  We  never  said 
much  about  it,  as  you  know,  Ben  Nathan.  You  kindly 
avoided  it,  from  fear  of  giving  offense  to  me ;  and 
I  felt  no  inclination  to  discuss  with  you  the  rights  and 
wrongs  of  that  social  system  which  was  at  once  a  cause 
and  consequence  of  that  inherent  dissonance  between 
the  life  of  the  North  and  of  the  South.  It  certainly 
was  not  argument  that  undermined  my  convictions, 
nor  do  I  think  it  was  the  result  of  observation  of  the 
social  and  economic  system  that  has  succeeded  slavery. 
That  is  yet  too  rudimentary  in  its  character  to  form 
the  basis  of  conviction.  I  believe  it  must  have  been 
your  personality,  Ben  Nathan  —  that  indefinable  some 
thing,  that  indeterminate  ether  by  which  one  mind 
impresses  itself  upon  another — that  produced  this 
curious  revolution  in  my  thought. 

"  Strange  as  it  may  seem  to  you,  my  belief  in  what  we 
used  to  term  '  Northern  fanaticism '  was  entirely  sincere. 
I  do  not  think  even  that  phrase  fully  expresses  my  senti 
ment.  Let  me  say  that  I  thought  this  Northern  fanati 
cism,  as  it  was  called,  was  not  fanaticism  at  all,  but 
hypocrisy  pure  and  simple.  I  knew,  of  course,  that 


THE   VETEKAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  14:1 

there  were  fanatics  —  John  Brown  and  men  of  his  type. 
These  men  we  honestly  pitied,  believing  them  to  be  the 
dupes  and  victims  of  others,  hypocrites  who  cared  neither 
for  liberty  nor  slavery,  but  desired  strife  and  were  ani 
mated  by  envy.  Even  with  you  for  my  friend,  Ben 
Nathan  —  a  Yankee  whose  sincerity  I  could  not  doubt, 
and  whose  candor  hid  nothing  from  my  scrutiny — it  was 
longer  than  I  would  care  to  confess  before  I  realized 
that  with  you  equality  of  right  was  a  real  principle, 
an  established  conviction,  and  that  you  were  in  fact  a 
type  of  a  great  element  of  Northern  life.  It  was  then 
that  I  first  began  really  to  respect  the  people  of  the 
North  as  a  moral  force.  Before  that  time  I  had  counted 
the  meanest  of  them  as  the  best — the  really  half-hearted, 
the  insincere  who  were  willing  to  barter  conviction  for 
comfort  or  favor,  had  seemed  to  me  the  real  patriots  — 
the  worthiest  element.  Then  it  was  that  I  first  began 
to  understand  the  rationale  of  the  war  for  the  Union, 
from  the  Northern  soldier's  point  of  view,  and  to  re 
spect  those  whom  we  had  fought,  not  merely  as 
'  mighty  men  of  war,'  but  also  as  representatives  of  a 
great  idea  —  soldiers  of  conscience,  and  patriots  of  the 
broadest  and  noblest  motives. 

"  About  this  time  my  ideas  in  regard  to  slavery,  the 
war,  and  almost  all  that  had  been  at  the  South,  under 
went  a  great  and  curious  change.  I  found  myself, 
almost  in  an  instant,  looking  at  slavery,  as  it  were,  with 
your  eyes.  I  not  only  regretted  that  it  ever  existed,  but 
stood  ready  to  condemn  the  theory  on  which  it  was 
based.  I  was  willing  to  admit,  as  Mr.  Cable  has  recent 
ly  admitted,  that  you  of  the  North  were  right,  and  we 


142  THE   VETERAN   AND    HIS   PIPE. 

of  the  South  were  wrong.  I  suppose  this  conclusion 
was  just  as  much  a  surprise  to  the  brilliant  novelist  as 
it  was  to  me,  and  I  have  a  notion  that  it  was  brought 
about  in  pretty  much  the  same  manner  —  by  uncon 
scious  communion  with  sincere  Northern  minds.  Per 
haps  I  ought  to  say  by  unbiased  observation  of  North 
ern  life.  For  a  long  time  I  was  unwilling  to  give  way 
to  this  feeling,  and  in  seeking  to  combat  it,  I  first  per 
ceived  that  inherent  difference  which  you  were  so  loth 
to  admit,  and  which  you  still  persist  in  believing  to  be 
characteristic  only  of  a  past  that  may  be  forgotten. 

"  I  know  that  you  are  wrong  because  I  have  an  in 
stinctive  knowledge  of  my  own  people,  and  you  have 
unconsciously  given  me  the  key  to  the  hearts  of  yours. 
You  hope  we  may  become  assimilated  and  homogene 
ous.  I  know  we  can  not,  at  least  for  centuries ;  and  I 
believe  that  long  before  they  reach  the  point  where 
assimilation  might  be  possible,  if  we  then  stood  in  sen 
timent  and  inclination  where  we  do  to-day,  the  desire 
for  homogeneity  will  have  failed,  and  the  differences 
will  have  crystallized  into  antagonisms.  The  trouble 
with  you,  Ben  Nathan,  is  that  you  have  never  been  but 
half  convinced  of  the  dissimilarity  between  the  two 
populaces.  Individually  you  note  it,  and  perhaps 
wonder  at  it.  My  frank  confessions  of  conviction  seem 
to  you  even  yet  half  incredible,  because  you  will  persist 
in  measuring  my  thought  by  your  own  standard  of 
development.  Even  then,  you  are  compelled  to  admit 
that  there  is  between  us  as  individuals,  a  radical,  almost 
a  structural  difference  of  mental  and  moral  growth. 
You  hesitate  to  extend  this  rule  to  the  masses  of 


THE   VETEBAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  143 

these  respective  peoples,  and  yet  you  know  that  you  and 
I,  individually,  are  infinitely  nearer  together  and 
better  able  to  understand  and  appreciate  each  other's 
thought  than  the  average  of  our  respective  compatri 
ots.  Twenty  years  of  unrestricted  intercourse  has 
made  us  just  able  to  perceive,  and  perhaps  to  define  the 
difference.  What  is  the  real  status  of  my  old  comrades 
who  have  no  Yankee  friend  to  whom  they  freely  un 
bosom  themselves,  or  of  your  Northern  philosopher  who 
has  no  recklessly  sincere  Southern  associate  to  keep  him 
from  being  led  astray  by  his  own  sentimental  specula 
tions  \  We  are  two  peoples,  Ben  Nathan,  let  me  say  it, 
again,  and  you  must  make  this  fact  the  basis  of  all 
theories  in  regard  to  our  future  relations,  if  you  expect 
them  to  be  verified  by  time  or  crowned  with  success. 
We  are  two  peoples,  and  I  don't  see  how  we  are  ever  to 
become  one.  I  believe  I  am  just  as  sorry  for  it  as  you, 
but  I  realize  what  stands  in  the  way  and  you  do  not." 

"  '  Slavery  separated  us  and  slavery  is  dead, '  do  you 
say?" 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  Ben  Nathan.  If  it  were  slavery  that 
separated  the  two  peoples  —  mind  I  say  if  it  were  —  it 
held  us  apart  so  long  that  the  difference  became  congen 
ital,  and  if  the  cause  had  been  entirely  removed  —  mind 
you  I  say  if  it  had  —  it  would  have  required  generations 
to  restore  the  original  identity  of  character.  We  speak 
the  same  language  but  our  words  do  not  mean  the  same 
things.  '  Liberty,'  '  slavery,' '  the  state,'  '  the  nation,' 
'the  rights  of  man,'  'the  privilege  of  the  ballot' — 
these  are  but  a  few  of  the  thousand  terms  that  mean 
one  thing  upon  a  Southern  man's  tongue  and  another 


144  THE    VETERAN   AND    HIS    PIPE. 

in  a  Northern  man's  ear.  '  Slavery,'  as  /think  of  it,  is 
dead.  The  slave  of  my  remembrance,  is  free.  But 
slavery,  as  you  mean  it,  is  not  dead,  and  the  slave  whom 
you  think  that  you  have  liberated,  has  hardly  more  of 
what  you  call  freedom  than  he  had  before  the  Federal 
Constitution  was  made  to  embrace  a  guaranty  of  right 
as  false  and  delusive  as  the  declaration  of  its  preamble, 
was  always  held,  and  no  doubt  intended  to  be.  We  are 
two  peoples,  my  friend. 

"  Only  look  at  the  difference  in  the  regard  we  have 
for  those  who  fought  for  us.  Your  soldiers  represent  a 
successful  cause.  The  nation  owes  its  existence  to  their 
devotion.  The  North  enjoined  on  them  the  defense 
and  support  of  her  distinctive  theories,  not  only  of  gov 
ernment  but  of  social  order,  and  they  performed  her 
behest.  Victory  crowned  your  banners.  Prosperity 
followed  on  your  triumphs,  and  peace  has  rested  with 
your  rusting  eagles.  All  this  was  reversed  with  us.  The 
Southern  soldier  represents  to  the  Southern  people 
defeat,  poverty,  humiliation.  All  that  you  gave  your 
people  we  failed  to  secure  for  ours.  Yet  compare  the 
esteem  in  which  '  the  blue,'  and  <  the  gray,'  are  held  in 
the  contrasted  sections  to-day.  I  do  not  mean  how  you 
regard  '  the  blue,'  and  we  regard  '  the  gray,'  abstractly, 
though  even  that  might  be  an  instructive  parallel.  I 
believe  that  if  Fitzhugh  Lee  should  ride  his  black  stallion 
down  Broadway  on  any  public  occasion,  wearing  his  old 
slouched  hat  and  soiled  Confederate  uniform,  he  would 
get  a  warmer  greeting  from  the  populace  than  any  officer 
of  your  army  excepting  only  the  afflicted  veteran  on 
Mount  McGregor.  Keverse  the  case,  and  let  any  Federal 


THE   VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  145 

soldier  ride  through  the  streets  of  'New  Orleans  —  our 
commercial  metropolis,  remember  —  with  Confederate 
commanders  preceding  and  following  him.  He  would 
probably  be  kindly  received.  You  Yankees  would  be 
satisfied  if  he  was  not  actually  insulted.  Some  promi 
nent  men,  politicals  and  officials,  might  set  the 
example,  and  he  thereby,  perhaps,. receive  a  scattering 
volley  of  applause.  In  that  case,  every  newspaper  in 
the  Xorth  would  double-lead  and  double-ink  the  an 
nouncement.  But  compared  with  the  thunders  of 
rapturous  approval  that  would  greet  even  the  most  un 
popular  of  our  commanders,  the  recognition  accorded 
'  the  blue,'  would  not  be  worth  noticing. 

"  But  this  is  nothing.  The  comparison  has  so  many 
dissimilar  elements  that  it  can  hardly  be  said  to  prove 
anything.  It  is  only  an  abstraction,  a  sentiment,  you 
will  say  at  best.  Well,  take  the  other  line  of  contrast, 
if  you  prefer.  How  is  the  Federal  soldier  regarded 
by  the  Northern  people,  and  the  Confederate  veteran 
by  the  Southern  populace?  We  starved  our  soldiers 
in  the  field ;  you  furnished  yours  with  every  possible 
luxury.  But  on  the  other  hand  no  man's  life  was 
worth  a  pin's  fee  with  us  who  wagged  his  tongue 
against  our  soldiers  or  the  cause  they  sustained. 
Invasion  developed  little  groups  of  malcontents  in 
the  mountains,  and  one  nest  of  'Buffaloes'  on  the 
sea  shore.  Aside  from  these,  Lee's  veterans  had 
a  united  people  behind  them  till  the  very  last 
moment.  The  South  was  solid  then,  just  as  it  was 
always  solid  before,  and  is  likely  to  remain  solid  here 
after.  Of  course,  I  don't  know  exactly  how  it  was 


146  THE   VETERAN   AND    HIS    PIPE. 

here  at  the  North.  Reports  from  an  enemy's  country 
are  never  entirely  reliable.  It  seems  certain,  however, 
that  there  were  almost  as  many  people  opposed  to  you  in 
the  rear  as  in  the  front.  Such  a  convention  as  that  held 
by  the  Democratic  party  in  Chicago  in  1864  would  have 
been  an  utter  impossibility  at  the  South.  There  would 
have  been  no  need  of  troops,  arrests  or  military  tribu 
nals  to  prevent  it.  The  population  of  any  Southern 
city  would  have  hanged  such  men  before  they  had  time 
to  organize. 

"  You  fed  your  soldiers  as  you  do  your  cattle  and 
horses,  but  you  did  not  support  them.  You  have  kept  up 
the  same  system  ever  since,  and  the  same  difference  still 
exists  between  the  two  peoples  in  this  respect.  You 
have  pensions  and  homes  for  your  soldiers,  and  schools 
for  their  children.  You  make  an  advertisement  and  a 
show  of  them,  just  as  you  do  of  your  paupers.  We  of 
the  South  don't  do  much  of  this  sort  of  thing.  One  or 
two  States  have  lately  pensioned  their  disabled  Confed 
erates,  and  we  have  made  some  more  or  less  successful 
efforts  to  get  you  Northern  people  to  contribute  to  the 
support  of  our  veterans.  We  don't  boast  of  our  chari 
ties,  however,  and  don't  feel  like  putting  our  soldiers 
exactly  on  the  level  of  our  paupers.  But  when  it 
comes  to  the  question  of  honors  and  preferment  we 
never  forget  them.  Only  think  of  it !  You  were  the 
victors  and  we  the  vanquished,  but  there  are  more  Con 
federate  than  Federal  soldiers  in  Congress  and  in  office 
under  the  government  to-day!  The  whole  South  is 
officered  from  the  Confederate  army.  Governors,  Con 
gressmen,  Senators,  Judges — everybody  in  official  posi- 


THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE  147 

tion  south  of  the  Potomac,  has  the  right  to  sport  a 
military  title  of  some  sort ;  it  may  be  only  corporal  or 
sergeant  —  we  are  not  half  so  great  sticklers  for  rank 
as  you  think  —  but  it  means  actual  devotion  to  the 
Confederate  cause,  and  it  is  for  that  reason  that  they 
are  preferred. 

"  Our  people  reason  of  the  future  from  the  past.  I 
mean  the  white  people,  of  course.  £To  Southern  man 
includes  the  negro  when  he  speaks  of  the  Southern 
people.  Why  should  we  ?  They  are  no  more  a  part  of 
our  life  —  there  is  no  more  of  identity  of  feeling,  im 
pulse  and  sentiment  between  the  two  races  than  be 
tween  a  Boston  blue-blood  and  a  Chinese  mandarin. 
They  happen  to  live  side  by  side.  That  is  all.  OUT 
people  say,  and  they  say  with  reason,  too,  that  the  men 
who  fought  for  the  South  are  the  most  likely  to  bo 
true  to  her  interests  now.  There  has  never  been  a  day 
since  the  war  closed  that  a  half-hearted  peace-man,  or 
one  suspected  of  indifference  to  the  cause  of  the  South 
during  the  war,  could  have  been  chosen  to  office  by  the 
votes  of  the  white  people.  As  long  as  we  let  the 
negroes  have  their  own  way  such  things  occasionally 
happened.  Even  our  Mugwumps,  however — or  the 
nearest  approach  to  the  Mugwump  that  can  exist  at 
the  South — must  have  been  a  faithful  Confederate  in 
order  to  command  a  following.  Mahone  is  our  worst 
sample,  but  nobody  forgets  how  he  used  to  ride  into 
battle  sitting  sideways  on  his  horse  as  cool  and  inscru 
table  under  fire  as  he  is  nervous  and  fussy  in  the 
Senate." 

"  If  the  Confederacy  had  succeeded  do  you  suppose 


148  THE    VETERAN   AND    HIS    PIPE. 

that  in  twenty  years  it  would  have  elected  a  President 
who  never  smelled  powder,  or  even  uttered  a  word  in 
support  of  her  cause?  Do  you  think  the  South 
Avould  have  chosen  as  Yice-President  a  man  whose 
public  services  chiefly  consisted  in  opposition  to  the 
measures  designed  to  perpetuate  its  power?  The  fact 
is,  the  South  stands  by  the  wearers  of  'the  gray' 
because  they  stood  by  it  in  its  hour  of  need.  The 
North  pets  and  pensions  and  patronizes  and  flatters  the 
wearers  of  '  the  blue '  as  if  they  had  been  mercenaries 
hired  to  fight  its  battles,  rather  than  representatives  of 
its  thought  and  deserving  types  of  its  manhood.  You 
think  you  conciliate  Southern  sentiment  not  only  by 
such  an  ignoring  of  the  men  and  ideas  of  that  day,  but 
by  elevating  neutrals  to  power,  and  allowing  "  copper 
heads  "  and  Confederates  to  dominate  the  government. 
By  my  faith,  Ben  Nathan,  proud  as  1  am  of  the  men 
who  have  won  in  peace  what  we  could  not  win  in 
battle,  I  cannot  help  blushing  with  shame  for  the  men 
who  permit  such  things  to  be.  Only  think  of  the 
parade  at  Portland  to-day,  and  put  side  by  side  with"  it 
the  statement  of  our  old  fisherman  guide.  He  is  almost 
seventy  years  old,  fought  through  the  whole  war,  and 
said  today  of  the  count}^  and  district  in  which  he  lives : 

"  It  has  always  had  from  three  thousand  to  five  thous 
and  Republican  majority,  yet  it  has  never  sent  a  soldier 
to  Congress  nor  to  either  branch  of  the  Legislature." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  that  the  old  man  knows  whereof 
he  speaks,  Ben  Nathan.  Do  you  suppose  that  a  parallel 
to  this  could  be  found  in  the  South?  No,  indeed,  and 
I  thank  God  for  it,  too.  Are  we  not  two  peoples  ? 


THE   VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  149 

You  were  hardly  surprised  at  the  old  fisherman's  story, 
while  I  could  not  help  cursing  in  my  heart  a  people  so 
mercenary  and  ungrateful  as  to  prefer  cowards  and 
usurers  to  heroes." 

Somehow,  Blower,  my  friend  Kaines'  furious  words 
made  the  show  at  Portland  seem  a  mockery  which  I 
was  almost  glad  to  have  missed. 

JULY  10,  1885. 


"  THE   HTJET  IS  IN  THE  HEART." 


64  npME  is  very  lavish  in  the  revenge  it  brings  to 
-JL-  him  whose  soul  is  strong  enough  to  wait." 
So  said  our  friend  Pascal  Raines,  as  he  took  from 
its  place  the  faded  pouch  made  sacred  by  the  touch  of 
love's  fingers  in  the  long  ago,  and  pressed  the  per 
fumed  flakes  it  held  into  his  pipe.  It  was  a  few  days 
after  the  Fourth  of  July,  and  I  had  not  yet  recovered 
from  the  shock  which  the  character  of  its  observance 
gave  me  sufficiently  to  expect  any  pleasant  message 
from  his  lips.  The  truth  is,  Blower,  that  his  strange 
words,  uttered  the  night  before  the  National  holiday, 
had  been  so  literally  confirmed  by  the  character  of  its 
observance  —  where  it  was  observed  at  all — that  I  found 
it  impossible  to  avoid  the  feeling  that  his  conclusions, 
drawn  from  the  facts  he  so  clearly  apprehended, 
might  also  be  true.  So  I  merely  said,  in  response  to 
his  look  of  expectation,  somewhat  brusquely,  too,  I 
fear: 

"Well,  what  now?" 

Pascal  Raines  paused  in  his  accustomed  occupation, 
and  looked  at  me  with  wondering  eyes.  I  suppose  my 
face  must  have  flushed  under,  his  scrutiny,  and  perhaps 
I  .moved  unconsciously  what  is  left  of  that  arm,  the 
major  part  of  which  molders  back  to  dust  under  the 
shadows  of  the  old-field  pines. 

150 


THE    VETEBAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  151 

"  Does  it  pain  you,"  he  asked  in  tones  of  kindly  sym 
pathy,  glancing  at  the  empty  sleeve.  Before  I  could 
make  answer  he  went  on :  "  These  old  wounds  are  very 
troublesome.  I  had  to  lay  aside  my  wooden  leg  yes 
terday,  and  betake  myself  again  to  the  crutch,  as  you 
see,  for  no  other  reason  in  the  world  than  that  the 
limb  that  is  no  longer  there,  would  persist  in 
aching." 

"Yes,"  I  assented,  "but  one  could  endure  the  evil 
better  if  he  knew  that  gain  had  resulted  to  others  from 
his  loss." 

"I  see,  Ben  Nathan,"  said  the  fair-faced  Southron, 
as  he  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  and  glanced  keenly 
down  upon  me.  "  It  is  not  the  wounded  body  so  much  as 
the  lacerated  heart  that  wrings  your  nature  past  tran 
quil  endurance.  I  can  not  say  that  I  wonder  at  it,  but 
you  should  not  quarrel  with  fate.  Because  you  were 
right  once,  it  does  not  follow  that  you  always  will  be. 
I  am  not  sure  that  it  even  raises  a  presumption  that 
you  will  ever  be  again.  I  am  inclined  to  think  that,  as 
a  rule,  the  man  who  is  thoroughly  and  earnestly  right 
upon  one  subject,  can  be  pretty  certainly  counted  on  to 
be  wrong  on  every  other.  This  is  even  more  generally 
true  of  times  and  peoples  than  of  individuals.  To-day 
may  be  right  in  one  direction,  but  to-morrow  is  almost 
sure  to  have  to  rectify  its  blunders  in  others.  You  are 
sore  because  your  old  Fourth  of  July  is  dead." 

"It  is  not  dead ! "  I  cried  vehemently.  "  At  least 
the  spirit,  the  sentiment  of  reverent  patriotism  that 
underlay  it,  is  not  dead.  You  may  speculate  about  it 
as  you  please,  but  I  still  insist  that  patriotism  is  the 


152  THE    VETEKAN    AND    HIS    PIPE, 

grand  passion  of  the  American  people,  and  love  of  lib 
erty  the  very  breath  of  their  nostrils." 

"  I  do  not  know  that  I  would  care  to  deny  your 
words,  Ben  Nathan,"  he  answered  after  a  moment's 
thoughtful  pause.  "  Patriotism,  of  some  sort  is  sure  to 
be  an  element  of  American  life,  simply  because  it  is 
American.  The  American  type  of  man  must  grow 
more  fixed  and  assertive  year  by  year.  We  shall  soon 
cease  to  ask  the  world's  permission  to  be  what  we  are 
or  what  we  choose  to  become.  We  shall  measure  our 
selves,  our  opportunities,  our  duties,  and  our  methods 
by  our  own  standards.  The  unit  of  comparison  will 
be  of  our  own  determining.  Instead  of  trying  to  adapt 
ourselves  to  the  standard  by  which  the  lives  of  other 
lands  are  measured,  we  shall  become  more  and  more  a 
law  unto  ourselves.  Patriotism — in  its  broadest  signifi 
cance  —  is  nothing  more  nor  less  than  the  assertion  of 
national  distinct iveness.  '  Our  country,  right  or  wrong', 
is  a  very  good  embodiment  of  this  idea ;  and  the  greater 
the  wrong  it  represents,  the  more  admirable,  very 
frequently,  seems  the  patriotism  that  upholds  it.  We 
need  not  go  beyond  our  own  experience  to  exemplify 
this.  We  have  seen  the  right  and  the  wrong  pitted 
against  each  other ;  and  can  bear  witness  that  the 
patriotism  which  maintained  the  wrong  is  to-day  ac 
counted  the  equivalent,  or,  perhaps  a  little  more  than 
the  equivalent,  of  that  which  gave  victory  to  the  right. 
Take  us  two,  for  example.  My  wooden  leg  is  a  badge 
of  honor,  recognized  and  accepted  as  an  indubitable 
certificate  of  patriotism  everywhere.  My  own  people 
applaud  the  act  of  which  it  is  a  consequence,  while  yours 


THE    VETERAN   AND    HIS    PIPE.  153 

freely  and  gladly  account  it  evidence  of  a  sincerity 
which  excuses  error.  Yet  it  is  only  a  symbol  of  devotion 
to  the  wrong — a  demonstration  of  bad  judgment  or  an 
evil  purpose.  It  simply  shows  that  I  stuck  to  what  I 
accepted  as  my  country,  even  when  it  was  grossly  and 
palpably  in  the  wrong. 

"On  the  other  hand  your  empty  sleeve  shows  that 
the  heart  beneath  it  beat  warm  with  devotion  —  not  to 
a  '  country  right  or  wrong,'  but  to  a  country  which  in 
that  struggle  vras  most  emphatically  right.  Yet,  in  no 
part  of  the  country,  is  your  memento  of  wars'  savagery 
accounted  an  evidence  of  a  greater  or  a  purer  patriot 
ism  than  the  vacancy  Avhich  Yankee  bullets  left  among 
my  members.  My  style  of  patriotism  —  a  mere  readi 
ness  to  assert  and  maintain  national  distinctiveness  — 
we  shall  always  have  with  us.  It  is  not  a  very  rare 
sort  of  virtue.  Tyrants  often  have  it.  Even  slaves 
sometimes  possess  it.  But  what  you  call  patriotism  — •, 
what  you  meant  by  the  word  when  you  used  it  just 
now  —  is  an  entirely  different  thing.  Patriotism,  to 
3^our  mind,  is  a  curious  fanatical  adoration  of  the  idea 
of  the  country  —  our  country,  let  us  say  —  as  the  em 
bodiment  of  universal  equity  and  benevolence.  I 
fought  for  the  Confederacy  because  it  was  my  country, 
or  I  thought  it  was.  I  thought  it  right,  but  I  should 
have  done  just  the  same  if  I  had  known  it  to  be  wrong. 

You  sustained  the  Union  cause  because  vou  thought  it 

•j 

right.  The  fact  that  it  was  your  country  had  very 
little  to  do  with  it.  In  truth,  I  rather  think  it 
was  a  drawback  on  your  zeal.  You  regarded  the 
overthrow  of  the  rebellion  as  the  cause  of  human 


154  THE    VETEEAN    AND   HIS   PIPE. 

freedom,  of  universal  liberty,  a  sort  of  harbinger  of 
the  millennium. 

"  So,  too,  with  your  idea  of  liberty.  It  does  not 
mean  collective  liberty  — national  independence,  the 
autocracy  of  the  mass  —  but  individual  right  and  per 
sonal  privilege.  You  have  outgrown  the  original  idea 
of  our  national  existence ;  or  rather,  have  grafted 
upon  it  every  new  phase  of  aspiration  for  humanity, 
which  that  vague  something  you  are  so  fond  of  calling 
progress,  has  generated  in  your  kindly  enthusiasm. 
Your  ideas  of  liberty  and  patriotism  are  so  commingled 
and  confused  that  you  do  not  realize  that  there  can  be 
such  a  thing  as  love  of  country  without  the  deification 
of  right  and  the  consecration  of  power  to  the  cause 
of  universal  freedom  and  equality  of  privilege." 

I  could  not  deny  these  things,  Blower,  though  I  had 
never  thought  of  them  in  that  way  before.  I  suppose 
*  my  doubt,  for  I  was  in  doubt,  where  this  speculation 
might  lead,  must  have  shown  itself  in  my  face,  for 
there  was  a  touch  of  sympathy  in  Raines'  voice  as  he 
came  over  and  laid  his  hand  upon  my  shoulder  while  he 
continued  : 

"  I  don't  mean  to  be  cruel,  Ben  Nathan,  but  we 
have  been  friends  long  enough  to  speak  plainly,  and 
are  old  enough  to  look  facts  in  the  face  without  shrink 
ing.  I  only  speak  of  things  as  they  appear  to  my 
apprehension.  My  point  of  view  is  not  the  same  as 
yours,  and  our  ideas  may  never  quite  converge.  I  may 
be  wrong  and  you  may  be  right,  as  you  were  in  the  old 
time.  But  if  we  are  ever  to  find  out  the  right  and 
eliminate  the  wrong,  it  is  necessary  that  you  should 


THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  155 

know  my  thought  and  that  I  should  realize  your  con 
viction.  And  what  is  true  of  us  as  individuals  is  true 
of  all  our  respective  counterparts  among  our  fellow 
citizens.  The  chief  difference  between  them  and  us  is 
that  our  mutual  regard  is  a  link  forged  in  the  white 
heat  of  deadly  strife,  which  only  proved  unworthiness 
can  ever  break.  If  it  is  hard  for  us  to  understand  and 
tolerate  each  other's  notions,  even  during  our  few  days 
of  annual  foregathering,  how  vast  must  be  the  chasm 
which  separates  the  peoples  of  which  we  are  but  types 
—  a  chasm  not  filled  with  blood  nor  the  '  results  of 
war,'  but  the  mere  neutral  distance  between  distinct 
and  dissimilar  crystallizations. 

u  I  was  in  a  factory,  the  other  day,  and  saw  two 
smiths  grasp  each  an  end  of  a  glowing  bar  of  iron,  and 
begin  to  ply  their  hammers  each  on  the  end  nearest 
him.  The  ends  were  alike  at  first.  They  rested  on 
the  same  anvil,  and  were  never  wholly  separated,  but  in 
a  short  time  the  one  became  crooked  and  the  other 
straight — the  one  round  and  the  other  flat.  They  were 
parts  of  a  common  whole,  but  if  separated  each  would 
still  remain  in  itself  complete.  Such  is  our  national 
life.  It  has  been  shaped  with  different  hammers.  The 
wisdom  of  that  <  one  matchless  among  forty  millions,' 
as  a  great  Confederate  has  recently  written,  was  based 
on  a  subtler  yet  more  stubborn  truth  than  he  himself 
perceived,  when  he  declared  that  the  Nation  'must  be 
all  free  or  all  slave.'  The  forms  of  society  to  which  he 
referred  have  been  assimilated  by  the  extinction  of  one 
of  them,  but  the  life  which  each  had  shaped  remains. 
The  slave-shaped  civilization  —  nay,  I  will  not  say  the 


156  THE    VETEKAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

slave-shaped  civilization,  for  to  do  so  is  but  to  perpet 
uate  the  common  error ;  let  us  rather  say  that  civiliza 
tion  of  which  slavery  was  so  long  a  conspicuous 
element  —  yet  remains.  It  can  no  more  be  suddenly 
extirpated  than  the  people  whose  every  sentiment  has 
been  molded  by  its  influences. 

All  the  conditions  of  that  civilization  remain,  save 
only  the  one  accident  of  involuntary  servitude.  It  is  not 
easily  changed  because  it  is,  to  a  great  degree,  impene 
trable  by  external  influences.  Nearly  one-third  of  its 
white  population  is  shut  out  from  all  influence  which  the 
world's  thought  might  exert  upon  them,  by  the  fact  of 
absolute  illiteracy.  Practically,  not  far  from  one-half 
even  of  this  element  of  her  population,  are  as  safe  from 
the  contamination  of  ideas  derived  from  the  printed 
page,  as  if  the  cabalistic  art  had  never  been  invented. 
Such  people  do  not  change,  save  by  the  imperceptible 
attrition  of  ages.  The  current  of  their  lives  can  not 
be  broadened  or  accelerated,  except  drop  by  drop.  No 
great  tributary  can  join  it,  no  sudden  tide  overwhelm 
it,  because  it  can  neither  absorb  another  life,  nor 
readily  assimilate  itself  to  new  conditions.  What  it 
was  when  Lincoln  uttered  his  famous  aphorism,  it  still 
substantially  remains,  and  must  remain,  until  forces 
yet  undeveloped,  acting  upon  generations,  yet  unborn, 
shall  either  transform  or  disintegrate  and  destroy." 

"  But  this  fact  is  as  nothing  when  compared  with 

that  one  other  overwhelming  fact  of  our  Southern  life 

—  the  fact  that  the  conditions  which  in  its  later  years 

induced  our  best  men  to  believe  slavery  an  absolute 

necessity,   still  confront  us  in  constantly  increasing 


THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS    PIPE.  157 

gravity.  The  fact  that  a  man  is  black  is  nothing  to 
you.  Upon  the  average  the  people  living  north  of  the 
Ohio  river  do  not  see  a  black  face  once  a  month.  To 
us  who  d  \vell  south  of  it  there  is  no  fact  more  terrible. 
It  is  our  sphinx  which  constantly  confronts  us  with  the 
unsolved  query,  "  What  shall  we  do  with  him  ? "  Per 
haps  we  ought  more  properly  to  ask  what  will  he  do 
with  himself,  and  what  can  our  children  do  with  them 
selves  ?  You  of  the  North  are  just  beginning  to  under 
stand  that  this  is  one  of  the  most  terrible  problems  of 
the  ages.  We  of  the  South  have  solved  it  for  ourselves, 
and  in  our  own  way.  We  have  determined  that 
cnange  can  not  come  —  shall  not  come ! 

"Do  not  tell  me  that  this  is  the  old  plea  which 
slavery  put  forth  for  its  own  preservation.  The  old 
cry  of  '  Let  us  alone ! '  was  something  more  than  a  mere 
political  slogan.  It  was  the  instinct  and  genius  of  a 
people  anxious  to  avert  a  danger  that  has  hourly 
grown  more  imminent  and  terrible  ever  since.  Your 
ancient  Puritan  rage  for  individual  right  blinded  the 
eyes  of  the  people  of  the  North  to  the  fact  that  we 
acted  only  from  the  impulse  of  self-preservation.  The 
South,  as  a  people,  does  not  wish  to  oppress  or  injure  the 
colored  man,  either  individually  or  collectively  consid 
ered  ;  but  we  stand  face  to  face  with  the  alternative  of 
repression  or  surrender.  We  must  prevent  the  colored 
man  from  exercising  the  power  which  your  humanita 
rian  zeal  for  the  individual  and  curious  disregard  of 
the  aggregate,  bestowed  upon  him,  or  yield  ourselves 
to  his  dominion — if  not  to-day,  certainly  in  a  very  near 
future. 


158  THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE. 

"We  can  not  assimilate  the  black  man.  "We  can 
not  destroy  him.  Do  you  wonder  that  we  have  deter 
mined  to  rule,  control,  and  forever  subordinate  him? 
Necessity  is  the  highest  law.  You  made  it  your 
strongest  plea  for  overriding  the  letter  of  the  Consti 
tution.  It  was  a  good  one,  too,  based  on  that  logic 
which  no  subtlety  can  answer.  It  is  beyond  even  the 
'  higher  law,'  since  it  is  not  based  on  theory,  but  graven 
on  the  marble  tables  of  fact,  which  make  up  the  life  of 
to-day.  The  decision  which  the  Soifth  has  made  upon 
this  question  rests  upon  immutable  necessity.  If  it 
conflicts  with  the  formal  law  you  gave  us,  we  can  not 
help  it.  You  should  have  known  the  life  for  which 
you  legislated,  before  you  sowed  to  the  wind  and  left 
us  to  reap  the  whirlwind  ! 

"  Until  of  late  we  have  feared  that  the  ancient  sen- 
timentalism  in  the  North  might  give  us  trouble  in  the 
future.  I  confess,  Ben  Nathan,  that  my  fear  of  this 
was  not  wholly  removed  until,  with  my  own  eyes,  I 
witnessed  your  Fourth  of  July.  Now  I  am  constrained 
to  tell  you  that  there  is  no  ground  for  apprehension, 
The  patriotism  and  love  of  liberty  which  inspired  your 
action  — which  make  up  your  ideal  of  a  free  country 
worthy  of  the  sacrifice  of  blood  —  is  no  longer  an 
active  force  among  your  countrymen,  and  will  not  be 
again  for  some  generations.  We  shall  manage  the  negro 
at  the  South  as  we  choose,  because  the  impulse  of  lib 
eration  and  amelioration  has  spent  its  force,  arid  for 
many  years  to  come  will  lie  dormant. 

" i  How  do  I  know  it  ? '  ;  Out  of  the  abundance  of 
the  heart  the  mouth  speaketh.'  I  visited  three  great 


THE   VETEKAN   AND    HIS   PIPE.  159 

cities  on  tne  Fourtn  of  July,  Ben  Nathan.  I  saw  ban 
ners  and  crowds.  Curious  multitudes  flocked  in  and 
out  in  a  feverish  thirst  for  some  new  pleasure  —  some 
untried  sensation  But  nowhere  did  I  hear  one  word 
of  reference  to  l  Freedom  and  the  Right.'  Since  then 
I  have  noted  the  reports  of  the  day's  observance. 
Here  is  one  from  a  city  of  two  hundred  thousand 
inhabitants  —  the  city  from  which  the  President  of  the 
United  States  was  chosen. 

i  There  was  no  assemblage  of  citizens  to  celebrate 
the  day,  and  so  far  as  can  be  learned  the  Declaration 
of  Independence  was  not  read  in  the  city.' 

"  Here  is  another  from  a  Western  City : 

'  For  the  first  time  we  had  a  Fourth  of  July  without 
fuss  or  feathers.  There  were  no  parades,  no  speeches, 
no  fire-works,  and  consequently  no  fires.'  You  see, 
Ben  Nathan,  the  interests  of  the  insurance  companies 
outweigh  the  impulse  of  what  you  call  patriotism. 

"To  make  assurance  doubly  sure,  I  sent  out  one 
hundred  letters  of  inquiry  to  different  towns  in  various 
Northern  States.  In  but  three  of  these  towns  was  the 
Declaration  of  Independence  read  or  the  day  celebrated 
as  a  patriotic  festival ! 

"  One  of  the  answers  to  my  inquiries  will  give  you 
an  idea  of  the  whole :  '  Our  people  went  to  picnics, 
base-ball  matches,  and  a  circus.  A  little  company  who 
might,  perhaps,  be  termed  the  elite,  had  a  clam-bake. 
If  a  word  was  said  about  the  country  or  the  day  by 
any  of  this  company,  it  was  clam  et  secrete?  You 
may  guess  from  the  flippant  jest  how  far  this 
happened  from  the  c  Cradle  of  Liberty.'  Your  ancient 


160  THE   VETEEAN   AND    HIS   PIPE. 

patriotism  is  now  accounted  worthy  only  to  point  a 
classic  pun ! 

"Another  answers :  '  We  had  flags  and  firecrackers, 
of  course ;  a  horse-race,  a  foot-race,  and  a  swimming- 
race.  There  were  no  speeches,  no  assemblage  with  any 
patriotic  purpose,  and  I  heard  no  allusion  to  either 
grace  or  glory.' 

"  Let  me  say  one  word  more,  Ben  Nathan.  I  trav 
eled  more  than  a  hundred  miles  that  day,  and  judge 
that  I  saw  somewhere  near  a  half  million  of  your 
Northern  people,  but  I  did  not  hear  one  syllable  of 
patriotic  song.  I  did  hear  a  company  of  Italians  play 
ing  the  <  Star  Spangled  Banner,'  followed  immediately 
by  '  Dixie,'  and  from  a  skating  rink  at  night  I  heard  a 
band  playing  'John  Brown !' 

u  There  is  no  longer  any  doubt,  Ben  Nathan,  in  my 
mind.  The  spirit  of  the  North  will  never  interfere  with 
the  Southern  idea  of  necessity,  no  matter  what  may  be 
the  course  it  takes.  We  are  rid,  finally  and  forever,  of 
"  Northern  interference  in  Southern  affairs."  We 
can  do  with  "  our  niggers  "  as  we  like.  That  is  why  I 
spoke  of  time's  revenges.  We  have  waited,  steadfast 
and  unchanging.  Where  we  stood  a  quarter  of  a 
century  ago,  in  principle  we  stand  to-day.  Our  con 
queror  has  changed  and  is  changing.  After  many 
years  we  see  the  principle  for  which  we  fought  — 
the  notion  that  we  must  be  let  alone  to  do  as  we 
choose  with  the  colored  man  —  if  not  admitted  by 
the  North,  at  least  tacitly  and  willingly  allowed.  You 
may  grieve  at  the  fact,  Ben  Nathan,  but  we  have  noth 
ing  to  fear  from  the  spirit  of  a  nation  which  has  prac- 


THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  161 

tically  abandoned  the  contemplation  of  past  achieve 
ments,  forgotten  its  National  anthems,  and  has  nothing 
better  to  do  on  its  birthday  than  to  seek  amusement, 
practice  gluttony,  and  boast  of  its  wealth." 
JULY  17,  1885. 


11 


TYPES  AND   LANDMARKS. 


has  been  a  notable  day  to  the  children  of  the 
-L  little  hamlet  where  we  have  fled  to  escape  from 
the  summer  heats,  Blower.  All  day  long  the  creaking 
monotony  of  a  hand  organ's  notes  has  been  heard, 
first  upon  one  side  and  then  upon  the  other,  of  the  lit 
tle  stream  which  divides  the  village,  with  an  impar 
tiality  which  only  the  utmost  pertinacity  could  compass. 
All  day  long  the  placid  bosom  of  the  lake  has  echoed 
back  the  ear-afflicting  strains,  and  all  day  long  the  vil 
lage  infantry  —  the  rank  and  file  of  to-morrow's  mighty 
host  —  have  paraded  up  and  down  and  back  and  forth, 
as  escort  for  the  red-coated  quadrumane  which  served 
as  fare-collector  for  the  able-bodied  musician  who  offi 
ciated  at  the  crank.  As  the  sun  neared  its  setting,  the 
storm  clouds  rose  above  the  horizon,  and  the  thunder 
rolled  its  magnificent  bass  among  the  sun-gilded  peaks. 
The  vagrant  bundled  his  frightened,  jabbering  monkey 
under  his  arm,  and  fled  for  shelter  just  as  the  first 
great  drops  fell  hissing  and  bubbling  into  the  troubled 
waters  of  the  lake. 

"  I  suppose,"  I  said  to  Pascal  Raines,  as  the  black- 
browed  Italian  went  scurrying  by,  "you  may  discover 
even  in  this  peripatetic  vender  of  congealed  harmonies, 
another  evidence  of  the  radical  unlikeness  of  Northern 
and  Southern  life." 

162 


'*• 
THE   VETEEAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  163 

He  smiled  good-humoredly  as  he  watched  the 
heavy-laden  fugitive,  and  said  : 

"It  is  at  least  an  evidence  of  patient  forbearance 
and  long-suffering  on  the  part  of  our  Southern  people 
that  they  peacefully  endure  even  such  representative 
products  of  your  Northern  life.  They  help  to  give  us 
an  idea  of  your  population,  however,  and  make  us  con 
tent  'to  bear  the  evils  that  we  have  rather  than  fly 
to  others  that  we  know  not  of.'  This  man  is  one  of  the 
standard  types  from  which  the  average  Southern  man 
judges  the  people  of  the  North.  The  teacher  of  negro 
schools  and  the  Jewish  merchant  are  two  more.  He 
takes  them  all  as  sample  elements  and  is  duly  grateful 
that,  instead  of  these,  he  has  only  the  negro  and  the 
'  poor  white '  to  vex  his  soul  with  insoluble  problems. 

"But,  seriously,  Ben  Nathan,  I  was  just  saying  to 
myself  when  you  disturbed  my  reverie,  what  a  pity  it 
is  that  we  have  not  some  great  national  lyric,  pulsating 
with  thoughts  as  grand  as  those  for  which  you  fought, 

O  O  c/  O 

which  might  touch  a  common  chord  in  the  hearts  of  all 
our  people  —  an  anthem  of  the  new  world's  life  which 
should  fuse  and  unify  its  contrasted  elements  into  one 
harmonious  whole.  I  wish  we  might  have  a  national 
air  so  potent  that  it  would  stir  every  heart  with  patri 
otic  impulse,  and  so  popular  that  no  man  would  dare 
even  to  carry  about  a  hand-organ  that  was  not  attuned 
to  its  harmonies." 

"  I  am  sure,"  I  said,  "  we  have  no  lack  of  patriotic 
songs.  That  we  have  no  anthem  of  such  scope, 
grandeur  and  originality  as  you  desire  is  probably 
due,  in  great  part,  to  the  fact  that  we  are  not  a 


164  r    THE   VETEEAN   AND   HIS   PIPE. 

musical  or  especially  poetical  people.  We  of  the  North 
would  seem  to  be  too  busy,  and  you  of  the  South  are 
—  I  will  not  say  too  indolent,  though  such  is  the  gen 
eral  Northern  estimate  of  your  characteristics — but  I 
may  at  least  say  that  you  are  not  given  to  strong  orig 
inal  work,  whether  in  literature,  art,  or  mechanics.  I 
suppose  that  when  we  reach  that  stage  of  artistic  devel 
opment  which  so  many  of  our  esthetic  and  critical 
friends  are  sighing  for,  the  land  will  be  so  full  of  har 
monies  that  we  shall  lisp  in  poetic  numbers,  and  our 
patriotism  clothe  itself  in  spontaneous  song." 

"  It  is  well  enough  for  you  to  laugh,  Ben  Nathan. 

O  %J 

So  far  as  I  can  see,  there  is  nothing  in  the  near  future 
to  trouble  the  Northern  man.  He  has  but  to  laugh  and 
grow  rich,  if  not  fat.  Indeed,  he  has  grown  rich  with 
such  wonderful  ease  and  in  defiance  of  so  many  estab 
lished  maxims  of  the  world's  precedent  life,  that  he 
has  come  to  scorn  all  things  except  the  luck  he  wor 
ships.  I  suppose  that  is  one  reason  why  the  religious 
element  has  died  out  of  his  political  philosophy,  and 
his  patriotism  has  come  to  be  merely  a  struggle  for 
spoils,  or  an  endeavor  to  gain  personal  advantage  from 
public  necessity.  With  us  of  the  South  it  is  different. 
Over  us  hangs  the  sword  of  Damocles.  Turn  whatever 
way  we  may  there  is  danger!  Two  races  confront  each 
other  on  our  soil  who  are  rapidly  approaching  parity 
of  numbers  and  theoretical  equality  of  power.  They 
stand  face  to  face  all  over  the  land.  Every  roof 
almost,  shelters  representatives  of  both.  They  are 
mingled  in  every  household,  and  yet  separated  by 
infinite  distance.  They  differ  radically  in  development, 


THE    VETEKAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  165 

tradition,  and  aspiration.  The  one  aspires  to  an  equal 
ity  of  right  and  power  which  the  other  would  rather 
perish  than  accord.  To  me  the  situation  seems  full  of 
peril,  but  my  countrymen  laugh  at  my  apprehensions- 
I  know  that  the  new-born  race  has  put  its  foot  upon 
the  lowest  rung  of  the  ladder  of  development,  and  no 
power  can  stay  its  upward  course.  My  brave  compa 
triots  scorn  the  notion  that  they  must  enter  the  lists 
with  those  who  were  yesterday  their  slaves.  '  The 
white  man  must  and  will  rule  the  South,'  they  declare, 
with  a  confidence  which  recent  history  has  done  very 
much  to  strengthen.  '  If  there  were  a  thousand  negroes 
to  one  white  man,'  said  one  who  but  yesterday  repre 
sented  one  of  our  states  in  the  National  councils,  '  it 
must  still  remain  the  same.  The  white  man  would  still 
rule.' 

."  You  of  the  North,  Ben  Nathan,  look  upon  these 
things  as  cooly  as  you  scan  the  fluctuations  of  the  mar 
ket.  Southern  sentiment,  to  you,  is  only  whimsical 
gasconade.  You  laughed  at  the  threat  of  disunion.  It 
took  three  hundred  and  seventy-five  thousand  lives  and 
three  billion  dollars  to  pay  for  your  foolish  levity. 
You  mocked  at  Southern  sentiment,  and  sought  to 
thrust  the  freedman  as  an  actual  factor  into  our  polit 
ical  life.  We  were  a  conquered  people.  The  flags  of  a 
victorious  enemy  were  flaunting  in  our  faces.  Yet 
to-day  we  rule  the  South  as  undisputedly  as  when  the 
stars  and  bars  floated  over  our  embattled  hosts.  Nay, 
more,  the  people  whose  sentiments  your  Northern  phi 
losophy  has  been  taught  by  the  predominance  of  the 
mercenary  impulse  in  your  own  life,  to  regard  with 


166  THE   VETERAN   AND    HIS    PIPE. 

scorn,  impelled  by  those  very  sentiments,  have  won  a 
predominance  in  the  National  Government  which  they 
never  before  enjoyed,  which  they  hold  in  defiance  of 
the  principles  for  which  you  fought,  and  which,  for  a 
score  of  years,  you  have  foolishly  boasted  of  having 
wrought  into  the  warp  and  woof  of  our  government. 

"  So  far  as  I  can  see,  this  does  not  affect  the  price 
of  a  bushel  of  corn  nor  the  value  of  a  day's  work  at  the 
North.  In  your  present  state  of  mind,  therefore,  you 
are  profoundly  indifferent  as  to  the  result.  Whether 
the  nation  is  wholly  republican  or  partly  oligarchical, 
is  a  question  that  does  not  greatly  disturb  you,  as  long 
as  the  political  organisms  of  which  you  constitute  a 
part,  are  situated  in  that  portion  where  the  democratic 
principle  prevails.  The  fervor  of  devotion  to  human 
right  because  of  the  mere  fact  of  humanity,  has  pretty 
much  burned  itself  out  in  your  hearts.  Your  sham  en 
franchisement  of  the  negro  has  satisfied  your  vanity 
and  allowed  you  to  make  easy  terms  with  that 
conscience  which  once  underlay  your  patriotism. 

"  I  used  to  count  your  fierce  humanitarian  zeal  as  sheer 
hypocrisy,  as  the  great  majority  of  my  country -men 
believe  it  to  have  been  to-day.  I  suppose  I  should 
have  remained  of  that  opinion  if  it  had  not  been  for  the 
character  of  your  patriotic  songs.  They  satisfied  me 
of  your  sincerity.  I  learned  from  them  that  your  zeal 
for  human  freedom  was  something  more  than  a  mere 
pretense ;  that  it  was,  in  fact,  a  real  principle,  a 
controlling  motive.  In  the  same  way,  the  absence  of 
such  songs,  the  unfamiliarity  of  such  ideas  among  your 
people  at  the  present  time,  has  taught  me  that  what 


THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  167 

was  a  motive  in  the  life  of  yesterday  has  ceased  to  be 
more  than  a  false  pretense  in  the  thought  of  to-day. 
Yesterday  the  slave's  liberty  was  a  cause  for  which 
thousands  of  your  best  were  glad  to  die.  To-day  the 
freedman's  right,  on  which  his  liberty,  the  nation's 
honor,  and  the  future's  peace  depend,  is  a  subject  not 
worthy  of  a  moment's  consideration  by  the  meanest 
among  your  number. 

"  Why  do  I  apprehend  any  trouble  because  of  the 
numerical  strength  of  the  colored  race  at  the  South  ? 

"  Oh,  that  has  no  relation  to  Northern  action  or 
sentiment.  You  will  remain  utterly  apathetic  under 
any  sort  of  wrong  that  may  be  inflicted  on  the  negro, 
unless  some  leader's  thwarted  ambition  should  seek  to 
make  it  a  battle-cry  in  some  future  conflict.  This  is 
not  very  probable  since  the  fruit  of  such  an  attempt 
would  not  be  likely  to  ripen  in  time  for  him  to  gather. 
The  soil  is  not  so  congenial  as  it  was  in  your  young 
days,  and  there  is  no  danger  that  Northern  greed  may 
be  shut  out  of  fair  western  fields  by  the  oppression  of 
the  negro  in  South  Carolina.  No,  no,  Ben  Nathan  ;  what 
makes  it  a  serious  matter,  for  us  primarily  and  for  the 
country  secondarily,  is  not  what  the  North  may  see  fit 
to  do  or  to  attempt  on  the  colored  man's  behalf,  but 
what  he  may  do  or  attempt  to  do  himself  —  what  he 
may  provoke  us  to  do  or  attempt-  to  do,  to  maintain 
what  we  believe  to  be  not  only  our  right,  but  an  abso 
lute  and  imperative  necessity.  You  see,  Ben  Nathan, 
the  conditions  which  surround  the  two  peoples  thus 
strangely  united,  but  not  in  any  sense  conjoined,  are 
not  identical  nor  even  similar.  It  is  because  I  see  this 


168  THE   VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

so  clearly  that  I  wish  we  might  have  a  National  song 
that  should  nourish  a  common  sentiment." 

I  shook  my  head  with  a  smile,  despite  his  serious 
ness  and  said : 

"  I  do  not  think  the  American  people  are  of  so  mer 
curial  a  temper  as  to  be  brought  into  harmonious  rela 
tions  by  l  the  concourse  of  sweet  sounds.'  You  of  the 
South,  with  your  more  ardent  temperament  and  whim 
sical  ideas  of  chivalry  and  honor,  may  be  impressible 
by  the  minstrel's  art.  But  we  of  the  North  are  too 
staid  and  practical  —  too  busy  and  too  cold  —  to  be 
subject  in  any  great  degree,  to  such  influences.  We 
are  neither  musical  nor  sentimental.  There  is  this  one 
point  in  which  you  might  well  draw  a  distinction 
between  the  two  peoples." 

I  spoke  with  the  complacency  which  an  utter  lack 
of  doubt  produces.  Pascal  Raines  looked  at  me 
for  a  moment  in  surprise.  Then  he  threw  his  long- 
stemmed  pipe  across  the  room  breaking  the  bowl  into  a 
thousand  pieces,  swung  his  one  leg  upon  the  edge  of  the 
table,  and  laughed  as  I  had  never  heard  him  in  all  our 
long  acquaintance. 

"  Thomas  Ben  Nathan !  "  he  cried  at  length,  pant 
ing  still  with  laughter  and  wiping  away  the  tears 
it  had  brought  to  his  eyes.  "You  will  certainly  be 
answerable  for  my  death  at  no  distant  day !  Is  it 
possible  that  even  your  eyes  are  blinded  with  the 
whimsical  tradition  that  the  South  is  of  a  lighter,  more 
ardent  and  mercurial  temperament  than  the  people  of 
the  North  ?  I  knew  that  was  the  impression  of  your 
countrymen.  It  has  even  been  used  by  your  historians 


THE   VETEKAN    AND   HIS   PIPE.  169 

to  account  for  certain  fancied  differences  between  our 
respective  armies.  They  talk  of  Northern  pluck  and 
obstinacy  and  of  Southern  dash  and  impetuosity.  Bah ! 
If  there  was  any  such  distinction  between  the  soldiery 
the  terms  should  be  reversed.  The  crowning  instance 
of  obstinate  endurance  in  the  whole  conflict  was  the  de 
fense  of  Petersburg,  on  half  rations  for  ten  months, 
against  a  force  three  times  as  great  as  our  own,  and  with 
out  the  shadow  of  a  hope  of  success.  You  who  were 
with  our  opponents  —  well  fed,  comfortably  housed,  and 
lavishly  clothed  and  supplied — you  thought  that  winter's 
task  was  hard  enough.  Our  old  fisherman  friend  tells  us 
almost  every  day  that  he  has  '  never  been  the  same  man 
since,'  and  I  do  not  doubt  that  he  is  correct.  'But  what 
would  you  say  if  your  memory  could  paint  the  scenes 
upon  the  other  side  of  those  works  !  Clothes,  shoes, 
food  —  we  had  not  enough  of  anything!  Enough,  did 
I  say  ?  We  only  had  as  little  of  all  as  human  life  could 
be  maintained  upon !  A  hundred  times  have  I  seen 
those  who  stayed  in  the  bombproofs  stripped  almost  to 
nakedness  to  furnish  clothing  for  those  who  went  upon 
the  picket  lines!  And  yet  ^  you  go  on  maundering 
about  Northern  pluck  and  Southern  dash,  as  if  obstinate 
endurance  was  a  purely  Northern  attribute  and  fiery 
dash  a  distinctively  Southern  characteristic  ! " 

"  The  fact  is,  Ben  Nathan,  that  you  are  the  light 
mercurial  element  of  our  people,  and  we  the  staid  and 
serious  part  of  the  population.  You  are  prattling,  tat 
tling,  song-loving,  self-complacent  sentimentalists.  We 
wear  the  '  inky  cloak '  of  habitual  seriousness,  if  not 
despondency.  You  are  always  singing  —  sense  or  non- 


170  THE   VETEKAN   AND    HIS    PIPE. 

sense,  as  the  case  may  be.  Outside  of  our  religious 
hymnology,  which,  by  the  way,  has  a  decided  inclina 
tion  to  the  sad  and  grave,  wre  have  hardly  anything  like 
popular  songs.  Outside  the  parlor  and  the  church,  it 
may  be  said,  that  the  white  man  of  the  South  very 
rarely  sings.  The  negro  does  our  singing  and  the  big 
ger  part  of  our  jollity  for  us.  On  the  contrary,  you  of 
the  North  are  always  singing.  Look  at  your  Presi 
dential  elections !  Think  of  the  thousands  who  tramped 
all  over  the  North  singing  the  absurdest,  most  ridicu 
lous  sort  of  clamatory  nonsense  ever  devised.  I  saw 
two  of  the  monster  'business  men's  parades'  in  Ne\v 
York.  Bedlam  could  not  have  turned  out  more  ab 
surdity  or  more  senseless  song.  The  Southern  man  may 
yell,  whoop,  perform  ridiculous  antics,  and  rival  a  Com- 
manche  in  threatening  or  scornful  grimace,  but  he  can 
not  sing,  or  at  least  does  not  and  will  not  sing.  You 
of  the  North  are  the  great  song-lovers  of  the  world, 
and  always  have  been." 

It  was  now  my  turn  to  be  surprised.  I  was  very  in 
credulous,  however,  and  said  almost  in  derision  of  his 
idea : 

"  Our  songs,  at  least  our  patriotic  songs,  must  have 
been  very  poor  or  have  exerted  very  little  influence 
upon  the  country." 

"  On  the  contrary,  Ben  Nathan,  the  patriotic  hym- 
nology  of  the  North  has  been  the  very  best  the  world 
has  ever  known,  and  its  influence  upon  the  country's 
history  has  been  simply  tremendous.  Even  in  the  war 
your  songs  were  of  more  advantage  to  you  than  your 
undoubted  superiority  in  artillery.  I  could  tell  you  of 


THE   VETEEAN   AND    HIS   PIPE.  171 

a  scene  I  witnessed  in  those  days  which  would  perhaps 
make  you  prize  more  highly  the  songs  you  have  for 
gotten  to  teach  your  children  to  sing.  What  was  it  ? 
Don't  ask  me.  I  dislike  to  think  of  it.  Yet  you  ought 
to  know  it,  Ben  Nathan,  you  and  all  your  self-deceiving 
generation  of  silly  sentimentalists.  You  ought  to  learn 
that  your  strength  as  a  people  is  not  in  money  or  ma 
terial  achievement,  but  in  that  moral  purpose  which 
differentiates  the  life  of  the  North  from  all  the  other 
peoples  of  the  earth.  Yes,  I  will  tell  it  to  you  some 
time.  But  now  the  storm  has  passed.  A  soft,  cool 
breeze  from  the  west  foretells  a  quiet  morning,  smooth 
water  and  voracious  fish.  We  must  be  on  the  lake  by 
daylight, 

That  I,  with  wings  as  swift 

As  meditation  or  the  thoughts  of  love 

May  sweep  to  my  revenge !  • 

"  To-day's  ill-luck  must  be  retrieved.  The  veriest  tyro 
can  see  the  signs  of  the  morrow's  triumph.  We  shall 
need  steady  hands  and  fresh  hearts  at  dawn.  So  now 
to  bed,  to  dream  of  humming  reel  and  glistening  scales. 
Some  other  time  I  will  discourse  to  you  of  these  things 
of  which  you  have  right  good  reason  to  be  proud." 

JULY  24,  1885. 


"WITH  DRUM-BEAT  AND  HEAKT- 
BEAT." 


~YT"OU  must  needs  pardon  me,  old  friend.  I  find  no 
JL  solace  in  your  charms  to-day.  For  once,  your  fra 
grance  hath  no  consolation  for  my  pain.  The  soft  blue 
billows  that  rise  above  your  shining  bowl  are  full  of  sad, 
sweet  visions,  that  bring  crowding  memories  of  the 
years  when  we  were  at  the  front  of  life's  great  battle. 
The  salt  tears  that  race  down  my  cheeks  make  your 
amber  mouth-piece  bitter  to  my  lips.  It  is  in  vain  that 
I  wipe  them  away.  They  only  come  the  faster — 
strange  drops  of  grief  which  time  has  treasured  for  this 
hour  of  woe. 

One  lieth  dead  whose  name  brings  up  the  story  of 
that  past  which  gilds  the  brightest  pages  of  the  Nation's 
glory.  That  silent,  firm-lipped  man  whom  we  first  saw 
through  the  chill  morning  haze  at  Donelson  ;  whose 
look  of  dogged  resolution  fixed  itself  forever  in  our 
memory  as  he  limped  past  us  when  we  lay  waiting  the 
surgeon's  care  at  Shiloh;  whose  self -forgetful  exulta 
tion  showed  itself  only  in  a  strange  brightness  of  eye 
and  lightness  of  speech,  as  he  led  us  almost  gaily,  from 
the  river's  brink  over  the  deep-gullied  hills  and  scraggy 
oak  openings,  up  to  the  conquest  of  Yicksburg  —  this 
man  of  men,  the  foremost  of  an  age  when  giants 
abounded  in  our  Western  world  —  is  dead  ! 

So  says  the  world.  To  us,  Blower,  the  message 
173 


THE   VETEBAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  173 

that  clothes  the  land  in  mourning  is  not  true.  It  never 
will  be  true,  because  we  never  can  forget.  We  may 
cease  to  note  the  empty  sleeve,  but  the  heart  above 
which  it  is  folded  will  never  forget  the  young  leader  — 
the  first  to  whom  we  touched  visor  in  the  hour  of  victory. 
We  shall  remember  him  always  as  he  looked  when 
the  sunshine  of  triumph  flashed  over  his  face  while  he 
watched  from  Orchard  Knob  the  execution  of  the 
order  that  hurled  the  long  blue  lines  against  the  slope 
of  Mission  Ridge,  when  the  prescribed  limits  of  assault 
were  overpassed  and  he  beheld  a  hundred  gaily  flaunt 
ing  battle-flags,  gleaming  bright  against  the  gray  decliv 
ity,  leap  upward  in  gallant  rivalry  toward  the  flame-lit 
crest  on  which,  almost  ere  one  might  count  their  num 
ber,  they  were  in  quick  succession  planted,  while  the 
fleeing  enemy  sought  shelter  in  the  circling  forest  and 
the  shadows  of  the  swift  descending  night. 

A  myriad  of  other  memories  come  back  to  us  — 
memories  long  accounted  precious,  sacred  now  to  the 
heroic  dead  —  memories  not  merely  of  those  great  events 
which  made  up  the  mighty  current  of  his  life,  but  of 
lesser  happenings  when  our  humble  fortunes  touched 
the  orbit  of  his  destiny.  How  we  prize  that  last  me 
mento  of  his  manfulness  and  woe,  penned  with  trem 
bling  hand  but  unfaltering  heart,  in  those  last  days 
when  misfortunes  came  to  show  by  crucial  test  the 
temper  of  his  soul.  Such  memories  are  for  us,  Blower, 
too  holy  for  the  cold  world's  eye,  too  sad  for  those  who 
loved  him  as  he  deserved.  Dark,  indeed,  were  those 
later  days,  to  them  that  shared  his  agony,  but  rich  in 
a  golden  setting  of  his  fame. 


174  THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE. 

He  who  fought  so  manfully  for  others,  in  that 
wondrous  past  of  which  he  was  so  great  a  part,  has 
gone  to  swell  the  ranks  of  the  immortals,  with  the 
fragrance  of  heroic  fortitude  clinging  forever  to  his 
name.  "While  he  "  languishing  did  live "  we  wept  in 
sorrow  for  his  pain.  Now  that  he  is  released  from  the 
woes  of  earth,  we  still  weep  —  not  for  him,  Blower,  but 
for  the  Nation  that  has  lost  the  simple  minded  soldier, 
the  brave,  true-hearted  man,  whose  worth  it  only  now 
begins  to  know.  His  grand  achievements,  by  himself 
so  simply  told,  make  the  most  eloquent  eulogium  seem 
weak. 

What  shall  we  say  of  him  that  others  have  not 
better  said  ?  The  story  of  his  triumphs  is  his  country's 
history  in  her  noblest  epoch. 

As  a  leader  he  was  our  greatest  because  he  served 
most  self-forgetfully.  We  knew  he  was  with  us  because 
he  was  of  us.  No  private  in  the  ranks  was  more  rigor 
ously  observant  of  discipline ;  none  so  unremittingly 
devoted  to  duty.  He  led  most  successfully  because  he 
served  most  zealously. 

His  table  and  his  tent  were  scarce  more  sumptuous 
than  those  that  fell  to  our  own  lot.  He  abstained  from 
luxury,  not  to  encourage  his  soldiers  to  do  likewise,  but 
because  he  was  himself  a  soldier,  and  luxury  comported 
not  with  the  performance  of  a  soldier's  duty. 

He  shared  the  sunshine  and  the  storm,  the  heat  and 
cold,  privation  and  fatigue,  not  from  any  vainglorious 
desire  to  be  counted  an  exemplar,  still  less  with  the 
shallow  ambition  of  seeking  the  favor  of  those  he  com 
manded,  but  simply  because  it  was  a  soldier's  place,  his 


THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  175 

calling,  and  his  duty,  to  serve  faithfully  and  endure 
cheerfully. 

He  never  encountered  insubordination  because  he 
sought  only  to  promote  the  general  welfare.  He  was 
more  anxious  for  the  success  of  the  cause  for  which  he 
fought  than  greedy  of  the  glory  of  achievement. 

He  never  asked  more  faithful  service  than  he  ren 
dered,  and,  while  chary  of  blame,  never  forgot  to 
render  praise  when  merited. 

Not  doubtful  of  his  own  conclusions  he  could  listen 
patiently  to  others,  and  yield  his  conviction  to  the  con 
current  opinion  of  trusted  subordinates. 

No  word  of  boastfulness  ever  crossed  his  lips.  His 
modesty  forbade  exultation  even  in  the  moment  of 
victory.  No  sneer  at  any  rival's  ill-success  left  its  stain 
upon  his  memory. 

His  pity  for  the  unfortunate  found  expression  in 
deeds  rather  than  words.  He  checked  the  shoat  of 
triumph  lest  the  hearts  of  the  vanquished  should  be 
wrung  by  its  echo. 

Prizing  only  achievement  as  the  foundation  of  fame, 
he  never  mocked  at  another's  failure. 

Even  when  he  yielded  to  the  advice  of  others  he 
never  shirked  responsibility  of  success  or  failure.  If 
success  resulted,  he  never  claimed  the  merit  of  its  sug 
gestion  ;  if  failure,  he  never  sought  to  shift  the  blame 
upon  another. 

His  self-forgetfulness  was  so  profound  that  he 
ascribed  his  own  success  to  opportunity  rather  than 
merit ;  his  modesty  so  great,  that  the  humblest  of  his 


176  THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

subalterns  excelled  him  in  exultant  pride  in  the  vic 
tories  he  achieved. 

He  was  more  jealous  of  the  fame  of  others  than  of 
his  own  renown.  To  depreciate  those  who  executed 
his  commands  he  counted  worse  than  an  affront  to 
himself ;  slow  to  repel  calumny  or  insinuation  he  was 
quick  to  defend  or  excuse  a  subordinate  when  unjustly 
assailed. 

He  had  so  little  envy  in  his  nature  that  he  felt  no 
shadow  of  distrust  of  those  on  whose  faithfulness  he 
relied  for  success.  He  never  found  it  necessary  to  be 
little  their  achievement  in  order  to  magnify  his  own, 
nor  did  he  ever  seek  for  exaltation  through  another's 
downfall.  Upon  tried  subordinates  he  rested  with 
unfaltering  faith,  even  doubting  of  his  own  success 
without  their  aid. 

He  never  measured  his  desert  by  others'  merits. 
Accomplished  facts  were  his  only  criterion  of  capacity. 
Scrupulous  in  the  performance  of  duty,  he  never  sought 
to  outdo  others.  His  modest  reticence  put  to  the 
blush  all  clamorous  exultation. 

As  a  commander,  he  was  chary  of  promises  of 
victory  but  rich  in  the  fulfillment  of  hopes  too  bright 
for  any  but  the  most  sanguine  patriot  to  cherish.  He 
never  sought  to  repair  the  fact  of  error  with  excuse, 
nor  shirked  the  responsibility  of  failure.  Neither  the 
injustice  of  a  superior  nor  the  slanderous  malevolence 
of  one  apprehensive  of  his  rivalry,  could  wring  from 
him  a  word  that  might  impair  the  country's  confidence 
in  those  that  led,  or  add  a  feather's  weight  to  the  bur 
den  of  responsibility  they  bore.  When  the  time  had 


THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

passed  in  which  his  words  might  be  productive  of  harm 
he  was  too  magnanimous  to  cast  any  imputation  on  the 
dead.  Who  else  would  have  rested  without  protest 
under  slanderous  aspersion  for  a  score  of  years  ? 

He  felt  so  honored  by  the  country's  preference  that 
it  seemed  to  him  almost  a  wrong  to  speak  in  derogation 
of  one  who  served  her  well,  even  in  defense  of  his  own 
fame. 

The  foremost  figure  of  a  mighty  conflict,  standing 
in  the  very  vortex  where  envy  jostles  with  renown,  he 
felt  no  jealousy  with  regard  to  his  own  fame,  nor  any 
desire  to  pluck  a  leaf  from  the  chaplet  of  another. 

Without  being  indifferent  to  his  own  achievements 
he  was  more  scrupulous  of  the  fame  of  a  subordinate 
than  of  his  own. 

So  chary  was  he  of  censure  that  the  closest  friends 
heard  no  words  of  detraction  from  his  lips  which  need 
now  be  forgotten. 

So  pure  his  purpose  that  he  never  deemed  it  needful 
to  utter  words  of  explanation  or  defense.  So  faithful 
to  his  duty  that  he  never  sought  excuse  by  alleging 
another's  dereliction. 

If  we  speak  of  him  as  a  man  we  but  touch  the  key 
note  of  his  public  life.  He  was  simple,  trusting,  faith 
ful,  and  sincere.  Counting  his  virtues  nothing  ;  seeking 
extenuation  for  no  fault ;  accepting  fortune  with  com 
posure,  and  meeting  the  sorest  evils  without  murmur 
ing. 

Loving  his  own  so  unobtrusively  as  never  once  to 
think  them  exalted  by  his  merit. 

So  faithful  to  a  friend  that  even  in  the  heat  and 
12 


178  THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

shame  of  inexcusable  betrayal  he  uttered  no  word  of 
censure,  syllabled  no  reproach. 

Betrayed  by  those  he  trusted,  he  sought  no 
revenge  and  uttered  no  denunciation. 

Covered  with  obloquy  because  of  another's  wrong, 
he  shirked  not  the  reproach  attaching  to  the  shame  of 
his  subordinate. 

When  the  world  echoed  with  taunt  and  jeer  because 
he  had  not  fathomed  almost  unfathomable  deceit,  he 
uttered  no  cry,  thought  not  of  his  own,  but  silently 
addressed  himself  to  the  hopeless  task  of  reparation, 
while  his  great  heart  was  slowly  eaten  out  with  grief 
for  others'  loss. 

So  pure  was  he  in  heart  that  his  lips  never  uttered 
a  word  that  might  bring  a  blush  to  the  chastest  maiden's 
cheek. 

So  unassuming,  that  he  never  distrusted  words  of 
praise.  So  kindly  in  his  nature,  that  he  quite  forgot 
to  vaunt  his  deeds  of  charity.  So  righteous  in  his 
judgment  that  the  bitterest  detraction  could  not  influ 
ence  him  to  withhold  a  merited  reward.  So  gentle,  that 
the  humblest  feared  not  to  approach  his  presence.  So 
just,  that  with  him  the  right  of  the  lowliest  was  secure 
against  the  highest. 

So  true  to  those  he  loved,  that  he  wondered  how  any 
man  could  be  false.  So  single-minded,  that  his  adver 
saries  never  fathomed  his  real  motives.  So  heedful  of 
the  rights  of  others,  as  to  peril  his  own  through  failure 
to  assert  them.  So  modest  in  deportment,  that  lack  of 
ceremony  never  gave  offense. 

Never  questioning  those  he  trusted,  even  to  the  last 


THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  179 

he  suffered  from  a  betrayal  whose  chiefest  sting  was 
not  his  own  hardship,  but  their  ill-fortune  who,  per 
chance,  had  trusted  in  his  name  and  staked  their  hope 
on  his  sagacity. 

Even  for  a  friend  he  would  not  flex  the  truth  of 
history  by  a  hair's  breadth ;  nor  by  his  silence  do  in 
justice  to  an  enemy. 

So  true  himself,  that  he  could  not  suspect  another 
of  insincerity. 

So  simple-minded  that  the  world  knew  not  his 
greatness,  least  of  all  the  land  he  loved. 

Ah,  Blower,  how  pathetic  —  how  woeful  beyond 
all  parallel  —  is  that  sole  sentence  of  excuse  that  ever 
fell  from  his  lips  in  those  last  sad  days,  not  willingly 
spoken  even  then,  but  wrung  from  his  agony  by  the 
stern  mandate  of  the  law  : 

"  I  did  not  examine  the  record  of  what  was  done, 
and  if  I  had  I  might  not  have  known  the  facts.  I 
trusted—" 

Noblest  of  leaders !  Manliest  of  men !  God  grant 
his  trustfulness  hath  met  reward ! 

So  loyal  to  his  country,  that  he  took  not  to  himself 
one  sentence  of  the  world's  unmeasured  adulation. 

"  This  is  not  for  me,"  he  ever  declared,  while  the 
world's  acclaim  echoed  in  his  ears,  "  but  for  the  land  I 
love,  the  reflection  of  whose  glory  shines  upon  my 
life." 

There  were  two  themes  that  broke  the  silence  which 
modesty  pressed  upon  his  lips,  made  his  eye  flash,  his 
cheek  flush,  and  his  voice  grow  eloquent  —  the  reverence 
which  the  world  has  for  the  great  Republic,  how  it 


180  THE   VETEEAN   AND   HIS   PIPE. 

stands  for  the  hope  and  aspiration  of  the  poor  and  weak 
of  all  the  earth,  and  the  patriotism,  fortitude,  and  de 
votion  of  those  improvised  armies,  whose  units  leaped 
with  joyful  readiness  from  the  quiet  of  peaceful  homes 
to  the  forefront  of  relentless  war.  To  them  he  was 
wont  to  ascribe  all  his  fame  and  all  the  happiness  that 
had  fallen  to  his  lot. 

He  loved  the  land  he  served,  so  well  that  devotion 
to  her  welfare  was  a  sure  passport  to  his  approval  —  to 
have  suffered  for  her,  an  all-sufficient  claim,  not  merely 
to  his  pity,  but  to  his  reverent  regard. 

Never  vaunting  his  own  patriotism  or  self-sacrifice, 
he  valued  what  he  had  done  simply  for  the  good 
which  his  country  and  humanity  might  derive  there 
from.  He  accounted  his  achievements  worthy  of  recog 
nition  and  remembrance,  not  because  of  their  great 
ness  or  brilliancy,  but  because  of  hoped-for  beneficent 
results. 

The  agony  that  ended  on  Mount  McGregor  was  not 
endured  in  vain.  Even  the  last  sad  days  yielded  worthy 
fruits.  Glorious  as  is  the  record  of  his  prime,  the  story  of 
these  closing  days  outshines  it  all !  The  valor  which  he 
displayed  upon  the  field  of  battle  shows  dim  beside  the 
heroic  fortitude  with  which  he  held  the  grisly  shade 
at  bay,  while  with  trembling  hand  he  wrought  upon 
his  self-appointed  task !  There  is  no  grander  figure  in 
history  than  this  deCrepid  hero,  working  day  by  day  at 
a  self -delineation  as  unassuming  as  the  life  it  portrayed, 
that  he  might  vindicate  his  fame  and  leave  a  comfort 
able  inheritance  to  his  loved  ones.  While  we  mourn  his 
loss  let  us  rejoice  in  this  fitting  climax  of  a  career  which 


THE    VETERAN   AND    HIS    PIPE.  181 

has  enriched  the  ages  with  a  bright  example  that  will 
be  all  the  more  potent  because  of  this  simple  soldier's 
story  of  a  simple  soldier's  life ! 

He  was  of  the  past  which  the  Nation  is  striving  so 
earnestly  to  forget  —  a  past  which  he  had  already 
outlived.  The  thought  that  inspired  the  armies  he 
led  to  victory,  no  longer  sways  the  hearts  of  our  people. 
The  Nation  exults  in  forget  fulness,  as  if  victory  had 
been  the  badge  of  shame,  and  triumph  a  confession  of 
wrong.  He  was  proud  of  his  leadership  in  war,  not 
because  he  had  slain  or  conquered,  but  because  through 
him  the  right  had  triumphed  and  ultimate  good 
been  attained.  He  exulted  in  the  Nation's  glory,  not 
merely  because  its  light  fell  on  his  face,  but  because  he 
believed  it  a  beacon  whose  rays  invited  the  world  on 
ward  and  upward. 

The  study  of  the  epoch  of  his  fame  has  been  so 
persistently  deprecated  by  his  countrymen  that  the 
memory  of  his  great  deeds  has  sunk  into  oblivion 
almost  as  dense  as  if  ages  rolled  between  us  and 
them.  The  school-boy  of  to-day  knows  all  about 
the  heroes  of  antiquity,  but  of  Grant  he  has  learned 
little  more  than  tKe  storj^  of  his  heroic  fight  with 
death.  The  victories  he  won  are  less  familiar  to  his 
young  countrymen  than  those  of  a  hundred  years 
ago.  The  struggle  which  he  brought  to  a  glori 
ous  end  is  remembered  only  as  a  great  misfortune. 
A  reunited  country  makes  haste  to  forget  the  means  of 
its  salvation.  They  who  sought  to  overthrow  are 
honored  above  those  who  fought  to  save.  The  Nation's 
flag  that  floated  brightly  over  Appomattox,  droops  as 


182  THE    VETERAN   AND   HIS    PIPE. 

low  in  honor  of  one  who  sought  to  destroy  as  in  mem 
ory  of  him  who  fought  to  preserve. 

Whether  Grant  was  right  or  Lee  was  wrong  is 
accounted  not  merely  an  irrelevant,  but  an  imperti 
nent  inquiry.  It  matters  not,  we  are  taught  to-day,  on 
which  side  lay  the  right  of  yesterday.  Indeed,  it  is 
deemed  by  far  the  better  form  to  believe  that  the  right 
was  not  upon  either  side,  but  somewhere  between,  or 
else,  perchance,  in  nub'tbus.  We  are  taught  that  charity 
demands  forgetfulness,  and  that  wisdom  counsels,  not 
forget  fulness  merely,  but  even  justification  of  the  Na 
tion's  foes.  To-day,  the  accepted  theory  of  the  great 
convulsion  from  the  throes  of  which  the  hero  sprung 
whose  death  we  mourn,  is  that  the  Nation  was  but  half 
right  at  the  best,  and  revolution  but  half  wrong  at  the 
worst.  Slavery  we  are  told,  was  indeed  an  evil ;  but 
the  negro  was  only  half  entitled  to  be  free.  The  rights 
of  men,  they  would  have  us  believe,  are  only  myths 
and  "  the  rights  of  things "  alone  are  real.  It  was, 
perhaps,  well  enough  to  take  off  the  shackles,  but 
radically  wrong  —  so  the  wisdom  of  to-day  declares 
—  to  confer  the  rights  of  citizenship.  So  the  balance 
is  struck.  Treason  stands  uncondemned,  while  its 
overthrow  is  scarce  half-justified.  The  hero  sinks 
to  rest,  his  laurels  already  half -withered  by  the  frosts  of 
forgetfulness  while  the  traitor  from  his  dying  bed  *  be- 

*  A  few  weeks  before  the  death  of  Gen.  Grant,  the  flag  was  placed  at 
half-mast  on  the  buildings  of  the  Department  of  the  Interior  at  Washington 
as  a  tribute  of  national  regard  for  Jacob  H .  Thompson,  who  was  the  secre 
tary  <it  that  department  under  Mr.  Buchanan,  and  was  afterwards  the  Con- 
IVdcnite  agent  sent  to  Canada  for  the  express  purpose  of  promoting  riot, 
arson  and  secret  treasonable  organization  throughout  the  North.  He  was 
not  a  leader  in  honorable  warfare,  but  the  instrument  by  which  thieves  and 


THE   VETERAN   AND    HIS    PIPE.  183 

holds  the  Nation's  flag  lowered  in  honor  of  his  treason ! 
In  a  little  while,  no  doubt,  the  line  will  be  obliterated  ; 
and  those  who  wore  "  the  bine  "  and  those  that  donned 
u  the  gray,"  will  be  thought  to  have  been  equal  trans 
gressors,  or  perhaps  with  loving  flattery  they  will  greet 
each  other  as  equally  deserving  patriots!  It  is  well 
that  he  who  died  did  not  tarry  with  us  until  that  day 
had  fully  come ! 

Now  the  old  battle-flags  will  be  brought  forth  and 
the  bowed  and  the  sorrowing  veterans  will  march  in 
sad  procession  to  the  tomb.  The  very  cannon  which 
he  captured  will  from  their  smoking  throats  proclaim 
his  apotheosis.  Had  he  lived  a  little  longer  it  might 
even  have  happened  that  the  tattered  fragments  of 
the  standards  which  he  had  watched  tossing  above 
the  wave  of  battle  —  telling  how  the  conflict  ebbed 
and  flowed  —  had  been  thought  to  smack  too  strongly 
of  unpleasant  memories  to  be  displayed  in  honor  of 
their  captor ! 

The  Nation  will  do  honor  to  the  illustrious  dead, 
because  his  renown  has  added  to  its  glory ;  yet  under 
neath  the  show  of  sorrow  there  will  be  a  sentiment  very 
close  akin  to  relief.  The  new  life  buries  in  his  grave  a 
potent  reminder  of  the  old.  Other  nations  saAV  him 
from  afar  and  offered  tribute  to  his  grand  simplicity. 
Only  we,  who  claimed  him  for  our  own,  mocked  his 
rare  modesty  and  rewarded  his  devotion  with  disparage 
ment  and  contumely. 

murderers  were  employed  in  the  service  of  treason !  He  was  one  who  con 
spired  with  criminals,  inciting  them  with  the  lust  of  plunder  to  the  commis 
sion  of  private  crime  in  order  that  the  Nation  might  be  weakened  and  the 
hopes  of  the  Confederacy  strengthened. 


184:  THE   VETERAN   AND    HIS    PIPE. 

Thank  God,  Blower,  the  swift  approach  of  death 
stirred  the  Nation  to  a  tardy  justice ;  and,  in  name  at 
least,  saved  us  from  the  shame  that  seemed  impending. 
To-day  gives  not  the  meed  of  fullest  approval  to  the 
man  of  yesterday.  The  rugged  steel  of  heroic  achieve 
ment  attracts  its  fancy  not  so  much  as  the  gilded  glitter 
of  pretense.  Gold  is  its  sole  standard  of  value.  The 
Nation's  heart  is  kept  under  seal  in  the  time-lock 
vaults  of  the  Treasury.  Polish  rather  than  strength, 
is  the  gauge  of  excellence.  The  power  to  forget  is 
deemed  the  highest  test  of  patriotism. 

Let  us  riot  murmur,  Blower,  the  blame  is  not  alto 
gether  with  to-day.  The  faults  of  the  tree  are  found 
first  in  the  kernel.  If  questions  of  right  and  wrong 
have  little  place  in  the  political  ethics  of  the  present,  it 
must  be  because  yesterday,  with  all  its  glory  and  all 
its  heroism,  was  somehow  unfaithful  to  its  trust.  The 
seeds  of  evil  lie  a  long  while  dormant,  but  "  in  fullness 
of  time  their  ripe  fruits  must  abound."  The  hero  who 
journeys  to  his  tomb  to-day  will  only  receive  his  full 
meed  of  honor  in  some  fur  future,  when  the  American 
people  shall  have  more  fully  learned  the  lesson  of  the 
struggle  in  which  he  led  them  on  to  victory.  They  will 
only  realize  the  debt  they  owe  to  his  genius,  manhood, 
and  determined  purpose,  when  they  comprehend  the 
fact  that  truth  is  not  the  question  of  an  hour  or  right 
eousness  a  matter  of  a  day.  lie  was  a  hero,  not  because 
he  fought  well,  but  because  he  led  to  victory  the  hosts 
marshaled  in  support  of  right.  We  may  pity  and  for 
give  the  foe.  We  may  regret  that  brave  men  should 
have  erred.  We  may  restore  to  every  privilege  those 


THE    VETERAN   AND    HIS   PIPE.  185 

who  have  transgressed.  But  we  can  not  blot  out  the 
fact  —  the  one  great,  overwhelming  fact  —  that  their 
acts  were  evil ;  that  the  cause  for  which  they  fought 
was  the  degradation  of  humanity,  and  that  which  he 
maintained,  its  great  uplifting ! 

To-day  we  are  in  the  trough  of  that  great  wave  of 
conscience  that  yesterday  swept  over  the  land. 

Men  say  it  was  a  stolen  tide  ; 
The  Lord,  who  sent  it,  He  knows  all. 

"We  have  accounted  it  an  accident.  It  was  in  truth 
a  moral  consequence.  We  have  declared  the  great 
questions  of  yesterday  and  their  logical  resultant  to  be 
outside  of  the  domain  of  politics.  We  have  insisted  upon 
making  that  an  exception  which  ought  ever  to  be  the 
rule.  We  have  sought  to  limit  political  issues  in  the 
Republic  to  questions  of  finance  and  administration. 
We  have  thrust  human  right  from  off  the  pedestal  of 
aspiration  and  lifted  up  instead  a  golden  image.  We 
have  bidden  our  children  worship  peace,  rather  than 
righteousness ;  cunning  rather  than  courage ;  gain 
rather  than  greatness ! 

It  was  a  grievous  fault, 
And  grievously  hath  Caesar  answered  it. 

Our  hero  goeth  to  his  grave,  his  fame  clouded  only 
by  its  malignant  shadow. 

A  nation  mourns  sincerely  enough,  but  still  wonder- 
ingly.  Our  comrades,  Blower,  grown  old  and  gray, 
speak  of  him  in  choking  tones,  with  tearful  eyes.  They 
mourn  not  the  man  only  —  not  merely  the  hero-leader 
—  but  the  life,  the  inspiration  which  he  represented. 
They  feel  that  we  cast  with  him  into  the  grave 


186  THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

that  thought  which  made  the  epoch  by  which  his  active 
life  was  bounded,  the  most  notable  in  the  world's 
history.  They  have  lost  something  more  than  a  com 
rade.  To  their  stricken  hearts  it  seems  that  the  most 
noted  land-mark  of  a  mighty  epoch  has  disappeared. 
To  them,  the  rebellion  (if  the  word  is  not  taboo)  was 
even  more  striking  in  its  moral  and  intellectual  aspects 
than  in  its  physical  manifestations.  To  those  who 
stand  beside  them,  the  young  whose  memories  barely 
overlap  his  glory's  brightest  zone,  the  conflict  in  which 
his  laurels  were  won  is  only  a  struggle  of  man  with 
man  for  power  —  of  beast  with  beast  for  mastery.  They 
rejoice  in  his  fame  as  in  the  memory  of  a  soldier  who 
won  victories  which  have  reflected  credit  on  our  nation 
al  prowess.  "What  those  victories  mean,  why  those 
battles  were  fought,  they  only  vaguely  guess  and  dimly 
care.  Their  fathers  in  their  zeal  to  guard  against 
hatred  and  malice  enjoined  the  duty  of  forgetfulness 
so  effectively,  that  the  hero's  deeds  are  half  forgotten, 
and  the  hero's  cause  so  lost  in  oblivion,  that  his  funeral 
eulogium  falls  upon  wondering  ears  like  the  story  of 
some  long  dead  and  unrelated  past. 

To  those  who  clamber  about  our  knees,  Blower,  the 
little  ones  whose  wondering  eyes  will  fall  upon  the 
pageant  of  to-day,  in  whose  ears  the  booming  of  the 
funeral  guns  will  live  as  sad  sweet  memories  when  age 
shall  have  touched  their  locks  with  gray  and  time 
shall  have  taught  them  by  harsh  tutelage  who 
and  what  he  really  was  whose  earthly  form  we  now 
consign  to  dust  —  to  them  it  will  be  given  to  measure 
aright  his  greatness  and  to  ascribe  to  him  his  true  place 


THE   VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  187 

in  the  temple  of  fame.  To  them,  the  fact  that  he 
saved  the  nation  from  dismemberment  will  mean  more 
than  to  us,  for  they  will  have  learned  from  what  fate, 
and  for  what  glorious  destiny,  it  was  preserved. 

So  long  as  men  shall  love  liberty  and  hate  oppres 
sion  ;  so  long  as  there  shall  be  on  earth  one  man  to 
whom  memory  or  tradition  brings  the  story  of  the 
slave's  sad  fate  ;  so  long  as  there  shall  be  one  earnest 
lover  of  his  fellow's  right  whose  cheek  flushes  with 
shame  and  anger  at  the  story  of  unrighted  wrong ;  so 
long  as  any  human  soul  looks  up  to  God  out  of  the 
sanctuary  of  an  ebon  form  ;  so  long  as  the  boundary  of 
equal  right  and  privilege  is  marked  and  determined  in 
the  least  degree  by  the  color  of  the  freeman's  skin ;  so 
long  as  earthly  pen  shall  write  or  human  eye  shall  read 
the  story  of  our  yesterday,  —  so  long  the  name  of  Ulys 
ses  S.  Grant  will  be  held  in  loving  and  grateful  remem 
brance  by  those  to  whom  it  is  given  by  divine  ordain- 
ment  to  confer  the  highest  fame  —  the  weak  and  poor 
of  earth,  to  whom  liberty  is  not  an  empty  form  of 
words,  but  the  golden  gate  of  opportunity  —  the  very 
open  door  of  heaven ! 

We  will  wear  the  badge  of  mourning,  Blower.  The 
empty  sleeve  shall  bear  for  many  a  day  the  emblem  of 
bereavement.  But  we  will  not  count  him  dead.  Our 
Grant,  the  patient,  modest,  brave  —  the  type  and  pro 
duct  of  our  new- world  life  —  can  never  die ! 

The  stars  on  our  banner  grow  suddenly  dim, 
Let  us  weep  in  our  darkness,  but  weep  not  for  him  ; 
Not  for  him,  who  departing  left  millions  in  tears  ; 
Not  for  him,  who  has  died  full  of  honors  and  years  ; 
Not  for  him,  who  ascended  Fame's  ladder  so  high  — 

From  the  round  at  the  top  he  has  stepped  to  the  sky  ! 
JULY  31,  1885. 


THE  KEFLECTED  LIGHT  OF  FAME. 


SLOWLY  the  pageantry  of  death  proceeds  on -Mount 
McGregor.  The  great  leader  is  borne  to  his  last 
resting-place.  Flags  droop  above  his  bier.  Mourning 
emblems  line  his  last  triumphal  course.  Cities  and 
states  contend  for  the  honor  of  sheltering  his  remains. 
They  who  spurned  him  living,  covet  the  privilege  of 
shining  in  the  reflected  light  of  his  renown.  The 
Nation's  capital  city  —  a  capital  only  in  name,  where 
but  the  shreds  and  fragments  of  national  life  are  to  be 
found  —  clamors  angrily  because  the  hero's  tomb  is  not 
to  be  added  to  that  national  museum,  by  the  exhibition 
of  which  those  multitudes  of  strangers  are  lured  within 
its  limits,  to  become  the  lawful  prey  of  its  inhabitants. 
Day  by  day  we  have  watched  the  course  of  prepara 
tion,  and  day  by  day  we  have  talked  of  the  dead  hero 
and  of  the  time  when  his  fame  was  won,  with  that 
friend  who  stood  then  upon  the  other  side.  The 
sword  we  wore  at  Shiloh  and  at  Vicksburg  hangs 
draped  upon  the  silent  wall  at  home,  where  one  whose 
shackles  the  great  hero  did  so  much  to  unloose  forgets 
not  to  do  tender  homage  to  his  memory. 

For  us  old  soldiers  even  the  pleasant  summer  sports 
have  lost  their  charm.  Rod  and  line  have  been  idle 
since  the  day  the  hero  died.  Our  old  fisherman  com 
rade  has  no  heart  for  the  oar,  and  the  rippling  waters 

188 


THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  189 

of  the  fair  lake  have  wooed  us  hourly,  but  in  vain. 
It  is  amazing,  Blower,  how  universal  is  the  feeling, 
that  with  him  we  bury  the  spirit  and  aspiration  of 
that  wondrous  day  when  he  sprang  from  obscurity  to 
fame.  Even  Pascal  Raines,  despite  his  cynicism  and 
the  fact  which  he  cannot  ignore  and  will  not  deny, 
that  to  applaud  the  patriotism  and  devotion  of  Grant, 
is  to  admit  his  own  error  and  certify  his  own  shame, 
even  he  has  been  depressed  and  restless  during  the 
whole  week,  while  the  dead  has  waited  for  the  country 
to  prepare  the  elegiac  pomp,  which  will  attend  its 
greatest  soldier's  obsequies.  We  have  smoked  our 
pipes  together,  half -unconscious  of  the  solace  we  de 
rived  therefrom;  scanned  the  maps  of  old  familiar 
fields ;  followed  the  routes  of  advancing  and  retreating 
armies ;  and  by  the  aid  of  many  a  printed  page,  have 
tried  to  revivify  the  past  and  reawaken  in  our  hearts 
the  thrill  of  its  great  impulses. 

"  Do  you  know,  Ben  Nathan,"  said  our  friend,  as 
we  sat  together  looking  out  upon  the  flashing  waters 
of  the  noble  bay,  after  we  had  read  the  daily  record  of 
the  world's  adulation  for  the  dead,  "  that  I  feel  as  if 
our  day  was  to  be  buried  in  his  tomb  ?  The  pomp  and 
pageantry  that  will  attend  his  interment  seem  to  me 
almost  a  mockery  of  his  devotion.  I  never  saw  him 
but  once  in  that  climateric  era  of  his  renown.  It  was 
just  after  he  had  received  the  surrender  of  Lee,  when, 
still  splashed  and  grimed  with  the  stains  of  that  furious 
campaign,  clad  still  in  the  simple  dress  hardly  distin 
guishable  from  a  private's  uniform,  he  had  started 
back  from  the  scene  of  his  greatest  triumph,  not  wait- 


190  THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

ing  to  view  the  smoking  ruins  of  the  fallen  capital,  nor 
enjoy  the  plaudits  of  his  fellow-citizens,  but  desirous 
only  of  completing  the  mighty  task  intrusted  to  his 
hands,  and  seeking  again  the  bosom  of  the  family  he 
loved.  As  the  little  cavalcade  passed  by  us,  I  scanned 
curiously  the  firm  placid  countenance  of  the  chief. 
There  was  not  a  trace  of  exultation  in  it  —  only  com 
plete  absorption  in  the  new  duties  that  confronted  him. 
They  drew  rein  at  a  roadside  spring  to  rest  the  horses, 
which  were  being  pressed  as  if  the  exigencies  of  a  new 
campaign  were  already  spurring  him  to  renewed 
activity.  There  wrere  some  officers  of  rank  accom 
panying  him  —  one  a  General  who  was  among  the 
most  trusted  of  his  subordinates.  These  with  a  few 
orderlies  and  the  members  of  his  staff  constituted  his 
sole  escort.  Quite  a  little  company  of  loiterers  had 
gathered  at  the  old  country  tavern  —  soldiers  in  blue 
from  a  camp  near  by  and  footsore  Confederates  on 
their  way  home,  if  happily  war  had  left  them  any 
homes.  A  train  of  ambulances  under  the  charge  of  an 
assistant  surgeon  had  halted  there  the  night  before, 
and  were  still  waiting  for  the  roads  to  be  cleared 
before  them.  Trains  were  passing  constantly  carry 
ing  rations  to  the  victorious  army  and  the  prison 
ers  they  had  taken.  I  was  in  one  of  the  ambulances, 
not  very  badly  wounded,  though  one  of  your  shells  had 
taken  away  at  once  both  the  artificial  limb  on  which 
I  had  served  for  more  than  a  year  and  the  horse  I  rode, 
leaving  me,  as  the  Yankee  surgeon  jocosely  said,  one 
of  the  "worst  disabled"  men  in  his  care.  I  think  his 
jest  secured  me  a  place  in  that  ambulance  and  a  free 


THE    VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  191 

ride  back  to  the  verge  of  the  world's  life  on  the  James. 
I  have  always  missed  that  leg.  It  was  of  French 
make,  and  when  I  first  reported  for  duty  on  it  my 
commanding  officer  regarded  me  very  dubiously  for 
a  moment,  and  said : 

" '  Do  you  think  it  will  stand  the  wear  and  tear  of  a 
long  march  1 ' 

"'Oh,  I  reckon  so,'  I  replied;  'it  has  already  run 
the  blockade.' 

"  He  laughed,  and  let  me  have  my  old  place,  and 
the  wooden  limb  was  no  very  serious  inconvenience 
until  Sheridan's  artillery  took  it  off  rather  uncere 
moniously.  The  stump  has  never  been  in  good  con 
dition  since.  I  understand  now  something  of  a  sailor's 
dread  of  splinters  in  time  of  battle. 

"  A  group  of  children  were  playing  in  a  wrecked 
army-wagon  by  the  roadside.  Among  them  a  fair-haired 
little  girl.  Alighting  from  his  horse,  the  great  captain 
surveyed  the  surroundings  with  a  look  which  one  felt 
included  everything.  Then  lighting  a  fresh  cigar,  he 
strolled  over  to  a  house  across  the  way,  addressed  a  few 
words  to  the  wife  of  the  owner,  who  sat  upon  the  porch 
bewailing  the  losses  she  had  suffered  at  the  hands  of 
both  armies,  and  inquiring  anxiously  as  to  her  hus 
band's  fate,  who,  she  had  learned  was  still  with  his 
command  in  Lee's  army  only  a  few  days  before  the 
surrender.  Of  course,  his  non-appearance  filled  her 
with  alarm.  The  General  spoke  a  few  words  of  conso 
lation  and  then  strolled  over  to  the  old  wagon,  which 
the  children  had  converted  into  a  play-house.  When 
called  to  partake  of  the  simple  repast  which  had 


192  THE    VETERAN  AND    II IS    PIPE. 

been  hastily  spread  for  him,  the  great  Captain  led 
the  little  girl  over  to  the  grove,  listening  gravely 
to  her  prattle  about  the  scenes  which  had  recently 
been  enacted  before  her  wondering  eyes.  There  was 
some  laughter  when  he  and  his  queer  companion 
reached  the  group  around  the  spring,  but  he  only 
patted  the  child's  head  and  said  something  I  could 
not  hear  which  hushed  the  levity  of  his  companions. 
A  servant  had  placed  a  red  blanket  at  the  foot  of 
an  oak  tree  for  the  General's  accommodation.  This 
he  half  unfolded  and  gravely  seated  the  child  beside 
him.  I  left  them  sitting  there,  the  child  partaking 
of  the  conqueror's  modest  repast. 

"  I  was  in  a  state  of  chronic  hunger  then,  Ben 
Nathan.  The  two  days'  rations  we  had  received  from 
your  commissary  the  day  before  had  lasted  me  about 
half  as  long  as  they  would  a  raw  recruit  on  a  hard 
march.  I  had  hardly  eaten  before  for  a  week,  and 
such  a  thing  as  a  full  meal  was  almost  beyond  the 
verge  of  my  recollection.  I  did  not  know  where  the 
next  meal  would  come  from  nor  when  it  would  arrive. 
I  was  still  a  prisoner.  Having  been  captured  before 
the  final  surrender,  it  was  yet  doubtful  whether  its 
terms  would  be  extended  to  those  in  my  condition.  I 
think,  however,  that  sight  did  me  more  .good  then 
the  richest  repast  that  even  the  lavish  abundance 
of  Yankeeland  could  have  afforded.  I  never  saw  your 
dead  commander  again  ;  but  I  heard  afterward  that  his 
kindness  to  the  little  girl  did  not  end  with  sharing  his 
luncheon  with  her. 

"Of   course  I  can  not  share  your  sorrow  in  his 


THE   VETERAN   AND    HIS    PIPE.  193 

death.  I  admire  his  strength,  courage,  and  devotion 
to  the  principles  for  which  he  fought.  The  world 
must  always  do  reverence  to  his  modesty,  simplicity, 
and  purity  of  character.  He  no'doubt  saved  his  coun 
try  as  surely  in  the  Presidential  chair  as  on  the  battle 
field.  If  any  weaker  man  —  any  one  whose  relentless 
resolution  we  of  the  south  had  not  learned  so  thor 
oughly —  had  been  at  the  head  of  your  National  affairs 
during  the  troubled  years  of  reconstruction  the  horrors 
of  the  strife  which  culminated  at  Appomattox  would 
have  been  multiplied  a  thousand  fold.  Even  as  it  is, 
you  are  appalled  by  the  bare  recital  of  the  terrible 
facts  of  that  era.  The  thirteen  thick  volumes  crowded 
with  the  testimony  of  murder,  mutilation,  and  univer 
sal  terror  are  a  terrible  arraignment  of  our  civilization, 
and  yet  they  tell  but  a  tithe  of  the  horrors  of  that  in 
scrutable  day !  Thank  heaven !  they  are  now  ex 
ceedingly  rare.  It  is  charged  that  our  Democratic 
Congressmen  swapped  and  bartered  with  their  thrifty 
Republican  associates  until  they  obtained  nearly  all 
the  volumes  that  were  printed  and  condemned  them  to 
destruction.-  I  do  not  know  how  that  may  be,  but  I 
wish  they  had  secured  the  very  last  one,  so  as  to  have 
obliterated  from  the  record  all  memory  of  that  shame 
ful  time.  But  that  is  neither  here  nor  there.  What  I 
wish  to  call  your  attention  to,  is  the  simple  inquiry : 
If,  despite  the  prestige  of  Grant's  name,  that  terrible 
epidemic  of  crime  and  violence  which  is  called  Kuklux- 
ism  left  its  fearful  scar  upon  our  civilization,  what 
might  not  have  happened  had  a  weaker  hand  held  the 
reins  of  power  ? 
13 


194  THE    VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE. 

"  The  south  will  mourn  in  him  a  brave  soldier  and 
a  generous  foe  —  one  to  whose  masterly  genius  and  un 
flinching  persistency  it  was  no  discredit  to  yield,  and 
whose  modesty  and  thoughtful  consideration  did  all 
that  lay  in  his  power  to  sweeten  the  bitter  draught,  a 
soldier's  duty  compelled  him  to  press  to  our  lips.  It 
is  the  man,  however,  and  not  the  representative  of  a 
cause  or  the  exponent  of  a  principle  that  we  mourn. 
The  death  of  Grant  does  not  in  any  degree  change  or 
modify  our  views  of  the  past,  the  present  or  the  future. 
We  are  simply  paying  in  kind  a  debt  we  owe  to  him, 
individually,  as  ex-Confederates.  He  was  magnani 
mous  to  us  in  the  last  hours  of  that  fond  dream  which 
had  so  sad  an  ending.  We  would  be  cravens  indeed 
if  we  did  not  remember  this,  and  weave  a  chaplet  for 
his  bier.  His  fame  brings  up  the  memory  of  our 
humiliation,  but  in  the  presence  of  death  we  can 
afford  to  be  magnanimous.  For  myself,  individually, 
I  can  honestly  say  that  I  mourn  him  as  an  upholder  of 
a  righteous  cause,  a  true  principle,  who  has  suffered 
cruel  wrong  at  the  hands  of  those  who  owed  to  him  so 
much.  I  believe  that  time  will  bring  his  justification 
as  a  statesman,  as  well  as  continue  to  increase  his  fame 
as  a  soldier. 

"It  is  strange  to  remember  how  bitterly  he  was 
attacked  for  merely  proposing  as  a  measure  of  national 
defense  the  acquisition  of  San  Domingo.  Already  the 
necessity  of  interfering  in  the  affairs  of  Central 
America  has  verified  the  wisdom  of  his  forecast ;  and 
we  are  beginning  to  look  forward  with  complacency 
to  the  prospect  of  relations  affecting  isthmian  transit 


THE   VETEKAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  195 

which  may  at  any  time  involve  us  in  foreign  war  and 
render  such  an  outwork  as  he  sought  thus  to  obtain, 
of  incalculable  value. 

"  So,  too,  with  regard  to  his  recommendation  for  a 
limitation  of  the  elective  franchise  in  the  choice  of 
Federal  officers.  Then,  it  seemed  little  less  than 
treason  to  the  principles  the  North  had  fought  to 
maintain.  Now,  the  chief  opposition  to  an  educational 
qualification  would  come  from  the  South.  We  have 
changed  places  wonderfully  in  the  whirligig  of  time, 
Ben  Nathan,  and  I  sometimes  wonder  if  the  future 
does  not  hold  for  us  as  many  surprises  of  this  sort  as 
the  past. 

"  I  have  told  you  often  that  he  reminded  me  very 
much  of  that  dead  hero  whom  the  South  has  shrined 
above  all  other  sainted  memories  in  its  heart  of  hearts 
— l  Stonewall '  Jackson.  In  modesty,  determination, 
and  unwavering  confidence  in  the  result  of  the  con 
flict,  they  were  alike.  Jackson  never  doubted  the  suc 
cess  of  the  Confederacy ;  Grant  never  questioned  its 
ultimate  collapse.  Both  were  at  the  same  time  singu 
larly  reticent  and  yet  singularly  outspoken.  Both  had- 
the  instinct  of  the  great  commander,  which  sees  only 
the  beginning  and  the  end  —  the  great  objective  and 
the  first  step  toward  its  attainment  —  leaving  all  the 
intermediate  movements  to  be  determined  by  the 
events  of  the  conflict.  Neither  excelled  as  a  subordi 
nate,  though  one  was  a  martinet  and  the  other  negli 
gent  of  everything  but  the  essentials  of  soldierly  con 
duct.  Neither  had  any  genius  for  defensive  strategy, 
nor  any  hesitation  about  assuming  the  offensive.  The 


196  THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

campaign  of  the  one  in  the  valley  of  the  Shenandoah 
is  equaled  only  in  our  history  by  that  marvelous  suc 
cession  of  victories  by  which  the  other  compelled  the 
surrender  of  Yicksburg.  They  were  alike,  too,  in  their 
restless  activity  —  the  success  of  one  blow  only  revealed 
to  them  a  way  to  more  successfully  deliver  the  next. 

"  More  and  more  I  have  come  of  late  to  regard  them 
as  types  of  their  respective  sections  rather  than  others 
more  generally  regarded  as  true  exemplars  of  the 
respective  peoples.  In  one  respect  each  differed  very 
greatly  from  the  majority  of  their  compeers.  Grant 
did  not  believe  that  the  overthrow  of  the  Confederacy 
removed  forever  all  national  peril,  or  even  the 
possibility  of  civil  convulsion.  I  have  reason  to 
believe,  Ben  Nathan,  that  his  apprehension  of  future 
conflict  between  different  elements  of  our  population, 
grew  more  intense  and  positive  during  his  later  years, 
and  was  only  dispelled  in  his  last  days  by  those  mes 
sages  of  condolence  and  sympathy  from  the  South 
which  he  accepted,  as  he  did  the  honors  showered  upon 
him  by  other  nations,  in  a  representative  capacity,  and 
counted  as  indications  of  concurrence  on  the  part  of 
the  South  in  the  principles  for  which  he  had  fought 
and  the  social  and  political  order  which  his  sword  had 
established.  He  had  an  unwavering  confidence  in  the 
destiny  of  the  great  Republic.  He  looked  forward  to 
a  homogeneous  people,  among  whom  there  should  be 
no  difference  of  interest  —  no  North  no  South,  no  East, 
no  West,  save  in  geographical  relation.  Of  this  he  found 
little  evidence  until  a  divine  pity  for  his  sufferings  im 
pelled  so  many  of  our  people  to  express  a  sympathy, 


THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  197 

which  his  self -forgetful  modesty  impelled  him  to  con 
strue  into  a  declaration  of  allegiance  to  the  principles 
and  ideas  of  which  he  counted  himself  only  the  insig 
nificant  agent  and  representative. 

"  Singularly  enough,  '  Stonewall'  Jackson  had  a  like 
confidence  in  the  converse  of  this  idea  —  £Jie  destiny  of 
ultimate  separation. 

"  '  This  is  our  country/  he  said  to  me  one  evening  as 
we  lay  upon  the  banks  of  the  Potomac,  waiting  to  cross 
over  into  Maryland  in  the  morning.  I  had  visited  his 
quarters  in  my  capacity  as  a  staff  officer  to  convey  to 
him  the  last  orders  of  his  superior  before  the  move 
ment  began.  I  found  him  poring  over  a  map  of  the 
region  we  were  about  to  enter,  and  the  nature  of  the 
communication  I  brought  made  it  necessary  to  continue 
its  inspection.  It  was  a  hot  day  in  the  early  autumn, 
but  his  military  coat  was  buttoned  closely  about  his 
curiously  angular  form.  His  sword  was  on  the  table, 
and  during  our  whole  conversation  he  never  once  re 
laxed  that  peculiar  rigidity  of  figure  which  he  seemed 
to  consider  inseparable  from  the  military  profession. 
'This  is  our  country]  he  repeated  more  slowly  and  em 
phatically  as  he  swept  his  finger  along  the  crest  of  the 
Alleghanies,  in  such  a  manner  as  to  include  Baltimore, 
and  then  carried  it  westward  along  the  Ohio.  *  This  is 
our  country.  We  are  not  invading  an  enemy's  terri 
tory  for  the  sake  of  conquest,  or  to  keep  him  from 
overrunning  ours.  We  are  simply  taking  our  own.' 

"  i  The  man  in  Washington,'  he  continued,  for  it  was 
by  this  circumlocution  that  he  always  referred  to  Mr. 
Lincoln,  'asserts  that  the  territory  claimed  by  the 


198  THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

United  States  is  destined  to  be  one  country,  because 
there  are  no  natural  geographical  boundaries  separating 
its  component  parts.  Does  he  count  this  line  of  moun 
tain  and  river,  stretching  from  the  sea  to  the  Mississippi, 
no  natural  boundary?  But  even  if  he  does  not,  there 
is  a  boundary,  Captain,  a  thousand  times  more  insup- 
arable  than  this.  Nations  are  not  really  separated  by 
mountains  and  rivers.  These,  in  fact,  serve  to  mark 
the  line  of  agreement  rather  than  demarkation.  They 
are  only  the  convenient  evidence  of  convention.  They 
are  lines  that  may  be  so  easily  traced  as  to  make  mis 
take  on  the  part  of  adjacent  governments  inex 
cusable.  Natural  obstacles  are  simply  strategic  lines 
between  hostile  forces.  They  may  preserve  nations 
from  attack,  or  give  them  specific  advantages  for  de 
fense,  but  they  never  differentiate  peoples.  Peoples 
are  separated  not  by  boundaries,  but  by  attributes  and 
characteristics.  We  are  two  peoples,  as  distinct  and 
irreconcilable  in  character  as  if  an  ocean  rolled  be 
tween.  The  mistake  of  the  North  consists  in  not  rec 
ognizing  this  fact  and  letting  us  go  in  peace.  Neither 
force  nor  time  can  make  us  one.  Habits  of  thought, 
social  customs,  even  the  very  constitution  of  our  lives, 
mark  us  as  distinct  and  separate.  The  results  of  this 
conflict  can  not  change  these  facts.  There  must  be 
two  peoples  and  one  republic  or  two  peoples  and  two 
republics.  I  hold  that  in  the  interests  of  peace,  hu 
manity,  and  the  future  progress  of  mankind,  it  is  better 
that  there  should  be  two  harmonious  nationalities 
rather  than  one  weak  and  discordant  one  —  subject  at 
any  time  to  the  terrors  of  threatened  dismemberment. 


THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  199 

"  '  That  is  why  I  am  here,  young  man,'  he  continued. 
'  I  do  not  know  much  about  the  formal  right  or  wrong 
of  the  matter  according  to  the  convention  by  which  we 
were  bound  together  —  the  Constitution.  But  I  think 
God  has  written  his  decree  in  the  natures  of  the  two 
peoples  and  we  are  now  working  it  out.  We  may  not 
succeed.  I  sometimes  think  we  shall  not.  Those  who 
control  our  armies  do  not  seem  to  realize  these  things 
very  clearly.  They  seem  afraid  to  declare  the 
truth.  They  cling  to  slavery.  It  is  at  best  only  an 
accident,  but  they  dare  not  even  make  it  serviceable  to 
our  cause.  I  do  not  see  how  it  can  long  outlast  this 
war,  whatever  the  result  —  and  I  would  give  every  one 
his  freedom  who  would  bear  arms  against  the  enemy. 
They  would  not  make  such  soldiers  as  we  have,  but 
they  are  good  enough  to  face  the  mercenaries  who 
swarm  like  locusts  in  our  front.  Of  course  they  have 
got  to  be  free  some  time,  but  that  fact  will  not  change 
our  identity  as  a  people,  nor  assimilate  us  in  any  great 
degree  with  the  North. 

"'No  Captain,'  he  repeated  again  impressively, 
'this  is  our  country.  All  this,'  sweeping  his  hand 
southward  from  the  southern  edge  of  Pennsylvania, 
'must  sometime  be  a  great  Southern  republic.  It 
will  include  these  islands  too,'  pointing  to  the  West  In 
dies,  '  and  these  jarring  nationalities  down  to  where  the 
Isthmus  merely  parts  the  eastern  and  western  strands 
all  will  some  time  be  one  nationality,  homogene 
ous  in  its  interests,  and  the  underlying  character 
istics  of  its  people,  at  peace  with  its  sister  republic  of 
the  North,  its  flag  on  every  sea,  and  its  ambassador  in 


200  THE   VETEKAN   AND    HIS    PIPE. 

every  court.  We  may  not  live  to  see  it,  Captain,  but 
it  will  come,  because  it  is  written  by  God's  hand  in  the 
hearts  of  two  great  peoples.  We  may  not  live  to 
see  it,'  he  repeated,  looking  up  at  me  with  that 
peculiar  earnestness  of  gaze  which  characterized  him, 
'but  when  it  comes,  whether  it  be  during  the  next  year 
or  the  next  century,  the  world  will  do  justice  to  our 
memory.  The  Deo  vindice  upon  our  flag  is  not  a  vain 
appeal.  God  will  vindicate  the  truth  he  has  revealed. 
It  may  not  be  in  our  way  and  time,  but  His  truth  can 
not  fail.' 

"  He  bowed  his  head  in  reverence  as  he  spoke,  then 
walked  abstractedly  across  the  room  once  or  twice.  I 
waited  for  my  dismissal,  but  seeing  he  had  forgotten 
my  presence,  at  length  accosted  him.  He  became  at 
once  the  alert  and  impatient  soldier,  repeating  again 
the  message  I  was  to  carry  back  to  headquarters.  As  I 
took  my  leave  he  said,  '•  You  must  pardon  me,  Captain, 
I  rarely  speak  of  these  things,  but  the  shadow  of  these 
Maryland  Heights  always  '  puts  toys  of  desperation '  in 
my  mind.  Good  night.' 

"  I  shook  hands  and  rode  away  dazed  and  astounded 
with  what  I  had  heard  from  the  lips  of  our  '  silent 
man.' 

"  I  wonder,  Ben  Nathan,  which  will  prove  the  truer 
—  the  hope  of  the  hero  who  made  his  apotheosis  on 
Mount  McGregor,  or  the  forecast  of  that  lion-hearted 
saint  who  went  up  to  that  God  whose*  lightest  word  he 
sought  to  obey  with  unquestioning  fealty,  from  the 
field  of  Chan  cell orsville. 

"I   am   glad,   Ben   Nathan,  that   the   messages  of 


THE   VETERAN   AND    HIS    PIPE.  201 

sympathy  that  came  up  from  the  South  were  miscon 
strued  by  the  suffering  soldier.  It  no  doubt  added 
greatly  to  the  placidity  of  his  last  days  to  have  his 
hopes  confirmed  and  feel  that  the  turmoil  of  war  which 
he  directed  was  but  the  precursor  of  a  peace  and  pros 
perity  more  lasting  and  complete  than  even  his  patri 
otic  aspiration  could  have  believed  possible  to  result 
therefrom.  We  can  not  mourn  in  him  a  hero,  standing 
forth  as  the  incarnation  of  cherished  ideas,  as  the 
people  of  the  North  should,  and,  to  a  certain  extent  no 
doubt  do ;  but  as  a  soldier  I  think  we  appreciate  him 
better  and  mourn  him  even  more  sincerely  than  those' 
who  reaped  advantage  from  his  victory.  We  are  a 
military  people,  Ben  Nathan,  both  by  instinct  and 
training,  and  know  how  to  appreciate  a  soldier.  Grant 
was  a  soldier  of  the  noblest  type.  We  mourn  his  death 
and  exult  in  his  fame." 
AUGUST  7th,  1885. 


THE  MOUNT   OF  TKANSFIGTJKA- 
TION. 


IT  is  over,  Blower.  We  have  bidden  adieu  to  our  old 
commander  —  the  last  grand  memento  of  a  marvel 
ous  epoch.  We  were  with  those  who  assembled  on 
Mount  McGregor,  but  we  did  not  look  upon  the  face  of 
the  dead.  We  remember  it  as  it  appeared  when  the 
light  of  battle  and  the  glow  of  victory  shone  upon  it, 
and  we  would  not  have  the  picture  dimmed  by  the 
shadow  of  death  or  the  trace  of  suffering.  As  he  was, 
so  shall  he  always  be  in  our  memory.  We  only  went 
to  salute  his  ashes  and  to  look  in  the  faces  of  those  who 
crowded  about  his  bier.  It  was  a  marvelous  spectacle 
—  the  beginning  of  a  mighty  pageant.  We  hope  to  be 
forgiven,  Blower,  if  with  our  desire  to  show  respect  for 
the  greatest  of  the  grand  army  which  freedom  mus 
tered  in  for  the  defense  of  right,  was  mingled  a  strange 
anxiety  to  note  the  behavior  of  the  multitude — to 
compare  this  pageant  with  others  of  similar  character, 
and  institute  some  comparison  between  Yesterday  and 
Today.  Perhaps  I  was  the  more  inclined  to  do  this 
because  our  friend,  Pascal  Raines,  has  so  persistently 
declared  that  an  apparent  and  notable  change  is  taking 
place  in  the  character  of  our  Northern  people.  I  asked 
him  to  go  with  us,  Blower,  but  he  declined,  for  reasons 
that  seemed  to  me  both  creditable  to  him  and  honor 
able  to  the  dead. 

203 


THE    VETEKAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  203 

"  No,  no,  Ben  Nathan,"  he  said,  "  go  you  and  bury 
your  dead,  and  note  with  your  own  eyes  whether  they 
who  commemorate  his  death  are  the  same  people  that 
mourned  at  the  grave  of  Lincoln.  If  your  eyes  and 
heart  find  no  difference,  then  it  may  be  that  my  reason 
and  observation  are  at  fault.  I  will  not  go,  because  if 
I  stood  as  a  representative  of  my  own  feeling,  I  must 
stand  almost  alone.  The  occasion  is  one  that  belongs 
to  you.  At  the  best,  we  of  the  South  could  be  only 
strangers  in  your  lodge  of  sorrow.  We  honor  the  dead 
as  a  brave  foeman  and  a  generous  conqueror.  We  do 
not  mourn  for  him.  In  his  death  we  have  lost  nothing, 
as  by  his  life  we  gained  nothing  but  the  bitterness  of 
defeat.  He  represented  no  principle  or  idea  which  the 
South  can  honor  or  adopt,  consistently  with  self-respect 
and  due  regard  for  the  memory  of  her  own  heroes, 
save  devotion  to  what  he  conceived  to  be  his  duty.  I 
am  glad  that  our  people  recognize  this  fact,  and  that 
their  declarations,  properly  construed,  cannot  be  taken 
as  indices  of  any  other  spirit.  They  will  stand 
in  line  and  pay  honor  to  his  remains,  distinct 
ively  and  properly,  as  Confederates  acknowledging 
and  in  part  requiting,  the  debt  of  honor  contracted  at 
Appomattox.  This  is  as  it  should  be. 

"  No  doubt  their  action  will  be  misconstrued.  The 
sentimental  North  will  be  sure  to  consider  it  an  indi 
cation  of  much  more  than  it  professes  to  be.  There 
will  be  a  deluge  of  gush  which  will  seem  to  me  all  the 
more  whimsical  because  I  recognize  the  sincerity  of 
your  countrymen  from  whom  it  will  mostly  come.  If 
they  would  but  pause  to  think  they  would  see  how  ab- 


204  THE    VETEKAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

surd  is  the  deduction  they  would  draw  from  this  action. 
Suppose  ex-President  Davis  were  to  die  to-morrow. 
"Would  the  people  of  the  North  —  would  the  government 
of  the  United  States  and  the  states  of  the  North — join 
with  us  in  mourning  for  our  dead  ?  You  would  not ; 
you  could  not.  Jefferson  Davis  represents  to  you,  to 
the  people  of  the  North,  to  every  man  who  was  loyal 
to  the  Union  cause,  ideas,  purposes,  results  which  are 
abhorrent  to  every  fiber  of  your  nature.  He  is  to  you 
the  incarnation  of  dismemberment  and  separatism.  He 
represents  the  idea  of  human  mequality,  as  opposed  to 
your  pet  dogma  of  equality  of  rights.  His  very  name 
signifies  to  you  the  antipode  of  your  idea  of  '  Freedom 
and  the  Right.' 

"  Not  only  that,  but  in  your  mind  the  blood  of  hun 
dreds  of  thousands  is  upon  his  hands,  and  the  woes  of 
many  millions  clinging  to  his  skirts.  You  winced  just 
now  when  I  referred  to  him  as  '  ex-President,'  yet  such 
was  his  title,  conferred  upon  him  by  the  unanimous 
voice  of  a  people  who  willingly  followed  his  leadership, 
approved  his  acts,  and  despite  his  errors  still  look  upon 
him  as  an  unfortunate  victim,  who  has  suffered  unjustly 
because  of  his  devotion  to  the  cause  which  they  com 
mitted  to  his  hands.  You  see,  Ben  Nathan,  there  is  no 
reciprocity  in  the  matter,  and  cannot  be.  We  do  not 
honor  Grant  for  the  victories  he  achieved,  but  for  the 
magnanimity  he  displayed  toward  the  captives  of  his 
sword.  You  owe  no  such  debt  of  honor.  Instead  of 
being  an  evidence  of  reconciliation,  our  participation 
in  the  funeral  pageantry  merely  shows  our  willingness 


THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  205 

to  forget  obnoxious  achievements  in  order  to  repay 
personal  favor. 

"  The  only  portion  of  our  people  who  will  mourn 
the  dead  leader  in  any  such  sense  as  his  death  appeals 
to  you  who  loved  and  followed  him  —  as  the  represent 
ative  of  a  great  principle  and  a  righteous  cause — js 
that  unfortunate  race  whom  poverty  prevents  from 
giving  imposing  expression  to  their  sorrow,  and  the 
color  of  whose  skin,  I  fear,  would  hardly  make  them 
welcome  participants  in  the  funeral  pageantry.  Yet 
they  are  the  true  mourners.  They  have  the  right  to 
stand  even  between  the  living  soldiers  and  the"ir  dead 
commander.  If  I  were  a  colored  man  I  would  walk  day 
and  night  to  be  present  and  claim  the  honor  of  march 
ing  behind  his  ashes.  If  I  had  charge  of  his  obsequies, 
while  I  would  welcome  not  less  warmly  the  military 
and  civic  organizations  of  the  South,  I  would  put  close 
behind  the  catafalque,  in  the  place  of  honored  and  de 
serving  mourners,  a  hundred,  aye,  a  thousand  of  that 
race  —  jean-clad  and  reverent,  types  of  its  best  and 
forerunners  of  the  hope  his  sword  conquered  for  them. 
I  honor  him  because  he  first  recognized  and  honored 
them  as  deserving  elements  of  the  new  Republic,  which 
you  think  is  safely  built  upon  the  fragments  of  the 
old.  Some  he  may  have  distinguished  above  their 
individual  desert,  but  none  beyond  the  right  and  merit 
of  the  race  they  represented.  I  will  not  go  myself,  Ben 
Nathan,  but  I  have  sent  a  check  to  pay  the  expenses  of 
one  who  is  a  teacher,  and  may  some  day  become  a 
leader  of  his  people,  from  Buckhead  Lodge  to  Mount 
McGregor  and  back.  He  has  never  seen  the  great 


206  THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE. 

soldier  and  ought  to  look  upon  the  dead  man's  face.  It 
may  be  to  him  an  inspiration  that  will  yield  good  fruit 
in  the  future  and  he  has  well  deserved  this  favor  at 
my  hands.  He  is  the  only  son,  Ben  Nathan,  of  that 
faithful  servant  who  sought  me  out  between  the  picket 
lines  that  night  you  wot  of,  and  pressed  to  your  lips  as 
well  as  mine,  that  draught  of  cool  water  which  was  of 
all  things  most  precious  next  to  life  itself.  His  father 
was  a  hero.  The  son  is  a  faithful  and  worthy  teacher. 
His  people  need  great  men,  and  their  necessity  must 
call  them  forth.  That  liberty  which  chose  a  tanner's 
son  for  its  great  instrument,  may  yet  find  a  soldier  or 
a  statesman  in  the  direct  line  from  my  'boy'  John! 
The  slave  who  risked  and  lost  his  life  for  his  master  is 
no  unlikely  sire  for  a  race  of  heroes !" 

•x-          -x          *          -X-          •&          #    .      *          * 

It  is  true,  Blower,  it  is  not  the  same.  I  scanned 
with  care  the  faces  that  bent  over  the  dead  hero's  dust. 
A  score  of  years  ago  I  looked  into  the  faces  of  those 
who  crowded  solemnly  and  ceaselessly  for  a  last  look  at 
the  features  of  the  dead  Lincoln.  Hour  after  hour,  day 
after  clay,  the  silent  stream  poured  on.  A  block  away 
sometimes,  the  multitude  stood  in  double  columns  wait 
ing  for  their  turn  to  come.  The  night  brought  scarcely 
any  diminution.  Crowds  waited  in  the  street  until 
after  midnight  —  tender  ladies,  gray-haired  men,  and 
children  delicately  bred.  Thousands  begged  with  tears 
for  one  more  hour  to  gaze  upon  the  homely  lineaments. 
Those  who  had  once  passed  through,  went  back  to  the 
foot  of  the  line  and  waited  again  for  hours,  for  another 
opportunity.  It  seemed  that  the  land  was  draped  from 


THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  207 

sea  to  sea.  But  we  hardly  noted  that,  Blower,  so  im 
penetrable  was  the  darkness  in  our  own  sore  hearts. 
Great  multitudes  collected  at  the  crossings  and  at  little 
stations  where  the  train  did  not  stop,  merely  to  gaze 
and  weep.  Great  fires  were  lighted  like  beacons  along 
the  railway  that  men  might  stand  and  mutely  testify 
their  grief.  Cities  seemed  dead  to  everything  but  the 
thought  of  woe.  The  streets  were  crowded  but 
silent. 

In  all  the  millions  who  walked  softly  by  that  bier  we 
did  not  see  one  smiling  face  or  careless  eye.  The  wife 
and  family  of  one  who  watched  at  its  head  had  not 
seen  him  for  a  year.  They  knew  he  was  with  the  funeral 
train,  yet  they  passed  through  and  did  not  note  his  pres 
ence.  The  dead  Lincoln  blinded  their  eyes,  even  to  hus 
band  and  father.  A  watch  was  set  in  one  city,  and  it  was 
found  that  more  than  half  of  those  who  came  were  in 
tears  when  they  approached  the  coffin,  and  hardly  one 
passed  down  upon  the  other  side  who  was  not  weeping. 
Never  in  history  was  there  such  a  spectacle  of  univer 
sal  sorrow.  Friends  met  and  wept  as  they  clasped 
hands  in  silence.  Enemies  who  had  for  years  passed 
each  other  by  in  silence  shook  hands  with  quivering 
lips  and  forgot  their  enmity  in  the  presence  of  him  who 
had  wrought  so  long  and  arduously  "  with  charity  for 
all."  Even  when  nature  compelled  interment  a  wail  of 
sorrowing  disappointment  went  up  from  those  who  had 
missed,  not  a  great  spectacle,  but  a  sight  of  the  dear, 
loved  face.  At  a  country  station  where  the  train  was 
switched  from  one  track  to  another  at  midnight,  an 
humble  woman  who  sold  refreshments  to  the  travelers 


208  THE   VETEEAN   AND   HIS   PIPE. 

at  a  little  counter  in  the  depot,  stood  in  her  place 
her  eyes  suffused  with  tears,  refusing  compensation  for 
the  coffee  she  furnished  the  escort,  and  begging  pite- 
ously  to  be  taken  to  the  next  great  city  for  one  glimpse 
of  the  dead  whom  all  the  land  so  loved ! 

I  doubt  if  one  in  a  htindred  noted  anything  of  the 
decorations.  They  were  something  wonderful  for  that 
day,  but  eyes  that  were  dim  with  falling  tears  took 
little  note  of  the  adornments  of  the  bier.  I  have  often 
thought,  Blower,  that  sorrow  could  hardly  have  been 
more  universal  and  overwhelming  when,  on  the  same 
night,  the  death  angel  touched  the  first-born  in  every 
household  in  a  whole  land.  Lincoln  was  mourned  so 
deeply  that  a  failure  to  manifest  a  participation  in  the 
common  grief  was  even  perilous.  Mobs  gathered  and 
houses  were  defaced  because  the  owners  refused  to  dis 
play  the  emblems  of  universal  grief.  Years  afterward 
when  a  man  who  had  been  very  prominent  in  our  na 
tional  history  passed  away,  he  had  almost  a  pauper's 
funeral  in  the  city  which  had  delighted  to  honor  him, 
because  men  still  remembered  with  sore  hearts  that  he 
refused  to  exhibit  the  emblems  of  mourning  when 
Lincoln  died.  It  was  as  if  all  the  heart's  ties  had  been 
sundered  at  once,  so  solemn,  so  tender,  and  so  universal 
was  the  reverence  the  nation  paid  to  its  great  dead. 

It  is  gone.  Many  of  those  who  crowded  to  the  cot 
tage  on  Mount  McGregor  were  the  personal  friends  and 
associates  of  the  dead  hero.  Their  lives  were  "  in  the 
coffin  there  with  Cesar's."  There  were  quivering  lips 
and  dewy  eyes  and  solemn  drooping  steps  as  they  passed 
reverently  by  the  leader's  corpse.  Heaven  bless  them, 


THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  209 

and  heaven  pity  them !  Let  us  whisper  no  names ! 
Their  grief  is  as  sacred  as  the  stricken  wife's  bereave 
ment  ! 

But,  ah  me,  there  were  some  —  also  !  too  many,  who 
would  spare  neither  —  ghouls  who  came  to  prey  on 
beating  hearts!  YulFures  who  would  batten  on  the 
dead!  Magpies  who  noted  only  the  externals  that 
they  might  gossip  of  them  afterward  ! 

There  is  no  doubt  that  the  final  pageant  will  be  the 
most  wonderful  ever  seen  upon  the  continent,  if  not 
the  grandest  funeral  ovation  that  the  world  has  ever 
known.  Our  comrades  that  follow  the  great  leader's 
dust  will  give  to  it  a  touching  solemnity.  The  some 
time  enemies  who  follow  in  his  train  will  give  a  curious 
interest.  He  is  perhaps  the  first  of  conquerors  to  be 
followed  to  his  grave  by  voluntary  associations  of  the 
captives  of  his  sword.  The  constituted  authorities  of 
country  and  its  constituent  commonwealths  will  make 
a  most  imposing  and  dignified  array.  The  best,  the 
noblest,  and  most  gifted  of  the  land  will  be  there  to 
testify  sincere  and  earnest  homage.  The  land  will  offer 
a  wonderful  display  of  reverence  and  devotion  to  the 
memory  of  the  second  name  of  its  climacteric  era. 
There  will  be  no  show  of  rancor,  no  hint  of  any  lack  of 
due  respect  and  honor.  The  great  Republic  honors  his 
virtues,  exults  in  his  patriotism  ;  is  proud  of  his  genius  ; 
glories  in  his  magnanimity,  and  challenges  the  world 
to  match  his  fortitude.  Those  who  lately  contemned, 
to-day  vie  with  his  warmest  admirers  in  adulation. 

All  this  is  as  it  should  be,  Blower.  My  eyes  grow 
dim  with  tears  of  joy  that  in  the  presence  of  his  ashes 
14 


210  THE   VETEKAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

rancor  disappears  and  discord  is  silent.  But  it  is  not 
like  that  wonderful  pageant  of  a  score  of  years  ago. 
The  multitude  Avill  no  doubt  be  decorous  and  grave ; 
the  display  more  notable  and  the  assemblage  more 
brilliant;  but  the  tears  will  not  flow  as  then.  The 
bowed  heads  and  heaving  breasts  will  be  less  numerous. 
Dry  eyes  and  curious  glances  will  be  more  often  seen 
and  the  hush  of  \voe  will  pass  more  quickly  away.  It 
is  not  because  the  people  would  do  him  less  honor  or 
hold  his  memory  in  less  regard.  It  is  only  because  the 
thought  that  inspired  his  life  had  passed  out  of  the  life 
of  the  people.  They  are  proud  to  do  him  honor,  but 
the  ideas  that  were  the  corner-stones  of  his  greatness 
are  of  Yesterday  and  not  of  To-day.  Had  he  died 
when  Lincoln  died  he  would  have  been  honored  like 
him  with  a  nation's  tears.  Now  the  land  does  homage 
to  his  life  with  proud  acclaim.  Then  his  achievements 
would  have  been  applauded  on  account  of  the  cause  for 
which  he  fought.  Now  they  are  remembered  because 
of  the  difficulties  he  overcame.  I  do  not  mean  to  speak 
disparagingly,  Blower.  I  only  wonder  if  the  life  which 
has  overlaid  and  smothered  the  thought  of  Yesterday 
is  really  a  better,  truer,  noble  aspiration,  or  is  the  hero's 
grave  to  be  but  a  milestone  that  will  mark  the  swift 
recession  of  patriotic  devotion,  purity,  and  virtue,  before 
the  corrosion  of  a  lower,  meaner,  baser  ideal  ?  Yester 
day  mourns  him  not  merely  as  a  central  figure  of  its 
life,  but  as  a  prime  exponent  of  its  thought.  To-day 
—  ah,  well,  To-day  crowds  curiously  to  view  his  funeral 
pageant,  to  count  the  horses  on  his  funeral-car,  note 
the  draping  of  his  bier,  and  fire  minute  guns  about 


THE  VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  211 

his  tomb!     When   their    children  ask  of    Grant,   no 
doubt,  they  will  be  told  it  was  a  goodly  spectacle !    To 
day  knows  not  its  debt  to  the  great  dead,  for  it  has 
forgotten  from  what  it  was  delivered  by  his  hand. 
AUGUST  14th,  1885. 


HYMNS  OF  THE  AGES. 


OUR  pleasant  summer  plans  were  sadly  marred  by 
the  visitation  of  sorrow,  Blower ;  and  nature  as  if 
to  testify  her  participation  in  our  woe,  let  loose  the 
storms  which  had  slumbered  since  we  first  came  to  this 
quiet  nook,  and  our  comrade-guide  declared,  with  the 
caution  peculiar  to  the  waterman  when  speaking  of  a 
new  experience,  that  he  did  not  "  exactly  remember 
ever  to  have  seen  just  such  a  storm  on  the  lake  at  just  this 
time  of  year.  If  it  had  came  a  month  earlier  or  had 
happened  round  about  a  month  later,  't wouldn't  a 
been  surprisin',"  he  said  "  but  jest  at  this  time,  it  sartin 
was  a  good  deal  out  o'  the  common." 

The  week  of  elemental  warfare  ended  with  a 
shower  on  Sunday  night.  We  sat  and  watched  the 
tempest  as  it  swept  over  the  bay,  until  the  clouds 
broke  away  and  the  stars  shone  clear.  We  concluded 
that  it  was  the  "  clearing  up "  shower,  and  having 
noted  the  quarter  in  which  the  wind  sat  decided  that 
the  morrow  would  be  a  rare  day  for  sport,  and  so  de 
termined  upon  an  early  start. 

The  forecast  of  the  night  was  abundently  fulfilled 
by  the  dawning.  The  beautiful  bay  was  as  waveless 
as  when  hostile  squadrons  lay  in  sight  of  each  other 
upon  its  bright  waters,  unable  to  begin  the  work  of 
slaughter,  because  of  the  breathless  calm  that  held 

212 


THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  213 

them  peacefully  apart.  But  the  fish  were  eager  and 
alert,  as  Kaines  had  predicted.  Hardly  had  the  first 
glittering  lure  touched  the  glassy  surface  when  it 
caught  the  eye  of  a  waiting  Labrax,  and, 

With  sweeping  tail  and  quivering  fin, 
He  sprung  above  the  waters  blue. 

ill  his  eagerness  to  seize  the  prey.  Then  there  was  the 
gleam  of  golden  scales  and  the  foam  of  angry  strug 
gles.  The  reel  sang  merrily.  The  fine  silk  line  cut 
through  the  silvery  surface,  just  tinged  with  the  rosy 
light  of  the  coming  day,  with  that  musical  hiss  which 
thrills  the  nerves  and  steadies  the  softly  straining  hand 
of  the  angler  worthy  of  the  name.  The  light  rod 
bends  evenly  from  shaft  to  tip.  The  attent  eye 
watches  the  course  of  the  surprised  and  angry  victim 
as  he  sweeps  back  and  forth  in  vain  attempts  to  release 
himself  from  the  bond,  light  as  a  spider's  web,  but 
strong  as  gleaming  steal,  that  drags  him  with  relent 
less  grip  to  the  waiting  net,  wherein  his  struggles  end, 
and  the  swift  changing  scales  clothe  with  a  golden 
nimbus  the  last  moments  of  the  finny  brave.  With 
the  sunrise  comes  a  gentle  western  breeze,  that  covers 
the  water  with  a  light,  sparkling  ripple,  which  seems 
but  to  inflame  the  restless  rovers  of  the  deep.  Hardly 
a  moment  passes  that  from  bow  or  stern  a  fight,  hot 
enough  to  stir  the  sleepiest  sluggard  who  loiters  yawn 
ing  and  listless  at  his  morning  meal,  is  not  in  progress 
in  our  little  craft.  The  wind  bears  us  slowly  before  it, 
and  the  trailing  bait  seems  to  grow  more  enticing  to 
the  flashing  piscine  eyes,  to  which  as  well  as  to  human 
vision,  no  doubt,  "  blessings  brighten  as  they  take  their 


214  THE    VETEKAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

flight."  Our  weather-beaten  fellow-soldier,  who  mans 
the  oars  and  wields  the  landing-net,  is  kept  busy  ren 
dering  impartial  aid  to  his  old  foe  and  former  com 
rade  ;  for  the  best  of  artificial  limbs  offers  but  insecure 
support  to  the  angler  with  but  an  inch  and  a  half  of 
keel  beneath  him,  and  a  five-pound  bass  upon  an  eight- 
ounce  rod. 

Others  may  sing  the  delight  of  capturing  "  mot 
tled  beauties "  in  still,  dark  pools,  where  the  for 
est  shadow  hides  unnumbered  myriads  of  persistent 
enemies,  whose  keen  stings  are  held  but  to  increase  the 
angler's  delight.  The  young  man  whom  fortune  has 
blest  with  a  purse  long  enough  to  stand  the  strain  of  a 
regulation  "  rig,"  and  nerves  sufficiently  obtuse  to  en 
able  him  to  brave  the  multitudinous  annoyances  of  the 
Restigouche,  may  rave  of  the  rapture  of  racing  with  a 
salmon  up  and  down  its  icy  rapids.  These  and  a 
dozen  other  forms  of  this  charming  sport  may  each  be 
pronounced  by  their  especial  devotees  the  very  acme  of 
the  angler's  delight ;  but  one  thing  is  certain,  Blower, 
that  for  a  half-disabled  veteran  the  rod  and  line 
offer  no  keener  enjoyment  than  a  pleasant  morning  on 
one  of  our  great  northern  lakes,  with  a  light  breeze  off 
the  shore  and  black  and  yellow  bass  in  a  complacent 
mood.  So  at  least  three  old  campaigners  unanimously 
decided  when,  as  the  sun  grew  warm,  we  sought  the 
shore ;  and  in  the  shade  which  lay  about  a  cool  spring, 
bubbling  from  the  slaty  cliff  and  trickling  over  bright 
sands  on  its  brief  course  to  meet  the  waiting  waves,  par 
took  of  the  generous  luncheon,  which  a  friendly  fore 
thought  had  provided  ;  counted  up  our  spoils ;  smoked 


THE    VETERAN   AND    HIS    PIPE.  215 

our  pipes  outstretched  upon  the  fragrant  turf,  and 
waited  for  the  evening  breeze  and  homeward  row. 

It  was  then  that  I  roused  Pascal  Raines  from  his 
nicotian  dreams,  to  tell  me  something  more  of  that 
patriotic  psalmody  to  which  he  had  once  alluded,  and 
which  I  took  care  to  intimate  that  he  had  evidently 
studied  with  peculiar  discrimination.  He  smiled  in 
pleasant  appreciation  of  my  well-intended  flattery  as 
he  replied  : 

"  Very  well,  Ben  Nathan,  this  is,  perhaps,  as  good 
a  time  and  place  as  I  shall  ever  find  for  the  redemp 
tion  of  my  promise.  Strange  enough,  it  was  almost 
within  sight  of  this  very  spot  that  my  attention  was 
first  directed  to  this  subject,  and  that,  too,  under  cir 
cumstances  the  reverse  of  pleasant. 

"  You  did  not  know  that  I  had  ever  been  here 
before  ?  Oh,  yes,  the  pleasant  water  we  have  drifted 
over  this  morning-  was  no  stranger  to  my  eye  some 
twenty  odd  years  ago,  though  it  was  not  nearly  so 
pleasant  a  prospect  then.  When  not  imprisoned 
beneath  jagged,  broken  ice-floes  the  water  was  almost 
always  covered  with  cold,  sullen-looking  waves  whose 
white  crests  and  steely  sides  made  even  more  frigid  the 
winds  that  chilled  the  marrow  in  the  bones  of  some 
thousands  of  war's  unfortunates,  who  were  the  unwil 
ling  guests  of  their  foes.  That  low,  dark  spit  of  land 
that  cuts  the  horizon  yonder,  just  hides  the  outline  of 
the  island  on  which  stood  a  celebrated  military  prison 
—a  bare  bit  of  wave-washed  bleakness,  admirably 
adapted  to  the  use  to  which  it  was  put,  so  far  as  the 
mere  security  of  the  prisoners  was  concerned.  We 


216  THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

used  to  think  it  pretty  hard  that  men  whose  homes 
were  in  the  *  sunny  South,'  and  whose  blood  was  at 
tempered  to  that  warmer  clime,  should  be  immured  in 
the  midst  of  a  frozen  sea  upon  the  very  northern  verge 
of  the  national  domain.  It  looked  like  murder.  We 
were  not  so  badly  cared  for,  in  other  respects,  but  men 
did  die  of  cold  in  those  contract-builded,  wind-swept 
barracks.  While  others  —  many  others  —  who  did  not 
die  then  and  there,  bore  away  the  seeds  of  disease, 
which  even  the  genial  influences  of  their  native  clime 
could  not  eradicate.  I  thought  then,  that  it  was  pur 
posely  done,  by  that  iron-hearted  man  who  shaped  the 
nation's  policy  in  matters  pertaining  to  the  war.  It  is 
hard  to  get  over  this  belief,  too,  terrible  as  it  seems. 

"  I  know  you  have  a  similar  feeling  in  regard  to 
some  of  our  southern  prisoners,  and  I  cannot  deny  that 
the  facts  are  terribly  against  any  other  hypothesis. 
You  claim  that  your  soldiers  in  our  hands  might  have 
been  given  the  common  blessings  of  fresh  air,  pure 
water,  and  at  least  the  chance  to  provide  themselves 
with  comfortable  shelter  in  a  region  abounding  in  for 
ests  and  streams.  You  claim  that  these  things  were 
forbidden  them ;  and  that,  in  addition  to  insufficient 
food  and  scanty  raiment,  you  were  compelled  to  bur 
row  in  the  earth  for  shelter  from  sun  and  storm ;  that 
words  cannot  picture  the  contamination  of  the  pools 
from  which  you  were  compelled  to  slake  your  thirst. 
You  believe  that  the  fierce  passions  which  war  had  in 
flamed  transformed  our  leaders  into  brutish  beasts 
whose  lust  for  vengeance  made  them  murderers  of  the 
vilest  type. 


THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  217 

"I  can  not  deny  the  facts.  The  terrible  story 
which  I  read  in  your  flushed  face  and  flashing  eye  is, 
no  doubt,  true,  so  far  as  the  acts  themselves  are  con 
cerned.  I  can  not  deny  them,  because  the  picture 
of  those  mounds  and  burrows,  with  their  savage, 
brutish-seeming  denizens,  was  ineradicably  seared  upon 
my  memory  by  one  glance ;  and  my  ears  will  forever 
thrill  with  the  strains  of  a  marvelous  chorus  welling 
up  from  the  lips  of  men,  in  whose  hearts  hope  must 
already  have  been  dead.  I  blush  to  say  it,  Ben  Nathan, 
but  I  speak  the  simple  truth,  when  I  tell  you  that  I 
never  had  one  atom  of  admiration  for,  or  pride  in,  the 
moral  attributes  of  you  Northern  people,  until  I  heard 
the  songs  that  floated  one  sultry  evening  from  the  pes 
tilential  mire  of  Anderson ville.  I  confess,  Ben  Nathan, 
that  the  name  of  that  terrible  stockade  calls  up  remem 
brance  of  a  sin  —  a  crime  against  humanity  —  the  stain 
of  which  must  ever  rest  upon  my  people's  fame  and 
taint  for  many  a  day  the  history  of  our  civilization. 

"But  let  us  not  speak  of  these  things  today.  The 
sun  is  too  bright  and  the  face  of  nature  all  too  peaceful 
for  such  dolorous  memories.  Some  other  day,  when 
the  storm  lashes  the  water  into  foam  and  the  sky  is 
dark  and  lowering,  I  will  show  you  that  even  these  are 
things  not  to  be  forgotten,  since  they  constitute  but 
another  proof  of  that  inherent,  and,  I  fear,  ineradicable 
difference  which  constitutes  us  two  peoples,  whether 
under  one  government  or  two.  This  is  a  time  for 
brighter  themes.  Earth  and  sky  are  aglow  with  ten 
der  radiance,  and  the  soft  notes  of  the  wood-thrush 
hidden  away  in  the  shadier  recesses  of  this  little  glen. 


218  THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE. 

seem  to  call  us  back  to  the  theme  you  suggested  —  the 
patriotic  songs  of  our  American  people. 

"  Before  I  come  to  speak  of  them,  Ben  Nathan,  per 
haps  I  ought  to  say  something  about  the  principles 
which  underlie  all  national  or  patriotic  hymnody.  I 
thought  it  all  out  over  in  the  prison-camp,  ten  miles 
across  the  head  yonder,  one  day  when  I  was  lying 
somewhat  more  than  half  sick  in  my  bunk  and  listen 
ing  to  the  songs  of  those  who  guarded  us.  They  were 
brave  and  kindly  men,  nearly  all  of  them  veterans  half 
disabled  by  wounds  or  hardship.  Some  of  them  were 
beardless  boys,  and  some  of  them  wrell  past  the  mili 
tary  age.  I  was  struck  with  the  character  of  their 
songs,  and  thought  to  myself  that  these  men,  whose 
honesty  of  purpose  I  could  not  deny,  had  become  the 
unconscious  victims  of  that  fanaticism  wrhich  had  for 
years  used  this  great  instrumentality  to  inspire  the 
northern  people  with  the  sacredness  of  the  crusade  it 
waged  against  slavery.  Three  years  before  —  I  was  a 
college  boy  then  in  New  England — I  had  heard  the 
Hutchinsons  sing,  and  had  found  myself  unable  to  re 
sist  the  thrill  of  humanitarian  sentimentality  which 
was  stirred  to  life,  even  in  the  dullest  breast,  by  the  rap 
turous  exultation  of  Whittier,  Garrison,  and  other 
poets  of  that  day,  who  may  well  claim  to  have  been 
inspired  by  a  zeal  for  liberty  unprecedented  for  sincer 
ity  and  disinterestedness  in  any  age  or  clime.  I  did 
not  think  so  then.  I  accounted  these  men  as  arch- 
hypocrites,  who  with  hellish  cunning  had  married 
noble  sentiment  to  flowing  numbers,  and  had  used  the 
combination  to  mislead  and  corrupt  the  simple-minded. 


THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  219 

"  It  was  only  after  careful  study  and  close  observa 
tion  of  contrasted  types  that  I  learned  that  the  patri 
otic  song,  or  the  song  that  is  based  on  a  patriotic  idea, 
always  performs  a  double  function.  I  used  to  accept 
the  ancient  apothegm  about  the  maker  of  a  people's 
songs  being  able  to  bid  defiance  to  the  maker  of  its 
laws,  at  par ;  giving  no  heed  to  the  farther  fact  that 
the  song-maker  himself  is  bound  by  inflexible  condi 
tions,  which  imperatively  curtail  his  influence  and  do 
main.  No  rules  of  art  can  give  his  work  success.  No 
rythmic  skill  or  deftness  of  versification  is  sufficient. 
No  loftiness  of  sentiment,  fervor  of  patriotism,  or 
grandeur  of  diction,  nor  all  of  them  combined,  can 
make  a  national  or  patriotic  song  which  will  ever  shape 
a  peoples'  or  a  country's  destiny.  The  one  essential 
pre-requisite  is  that  such  a  song  must  always  express 
what  a  people  have  already  thought  and  felt.  Not 
only  that,  but  it  must  express  a  sentiment  on  which 
the  popular  mind  has  dwelt  so  long  and  earnestly  that 
the  song  seems  but  the  echo  of  their  thought.  It  be 
comes,  therefore,  first  of  all  things,  an  exponent  of 
public  sentiment,  an  index  of  popular  feeling.  It  may 
intensify  or  perpetuate  such  sentiment,  but  it  can 
never  create  or  inspire  a  popular  thought.  The  patri 
otic  song  must  be  a  type  of  the  age  and  people,  and  its 
measures  must  always  be  synchronous  with  the  heart 
beat  of  a  national  life. 

"  Miriam's  song,  the  earliest  patriotic  rhapsody  of 
the  Israelite,  throbbing  as  it  does  with  a  thrill  of  a 
marvelous  deliverance,  yet  displays  amid  its  exultation 
and  savage  imprecation  of  the  enemy,  that  cool 


220  THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

assumption  that  the  enemies  of  Israel  are  for  that  very 
reason  the  foes  of  God,  which  has  ever  remained  the 
peculiar  characteristic  of  the  Jewish  people.  No  one 
can  doubt  that  this  was  the  thought  uppermost  in  the 
heart  of  each  at  that  moment  of  miraculous  triumph. 
Miriam  simply  phrased  the  sentiment  of  everyone  who 
had  come  dry-shod  through  the  sea,  with  the  guiding 
pillar  of  flame  and  cloud,  and  had  seen  the  enemies 
who  had  so  long  oppressed,  destroyed  by  the  very  in 
strumentalities  which  had  wrought  their  own  deliver 
ance.  It  was  first  effect  and  then  cause  —  the  voice  of 
a  day  and  the  inspiration  of  the  ages.  Of  a  like  char 
acter  were  the  war  cries  and  battle  hymns  of  all 
ancient  peoples,  only  pitched  upon  a  much  lower  key 
to  suit  the  tenor  of  a  baser  life. 

"  The  song  with  which  the  Englishman  has  so  long 
cheered  himself  in  victory  and  upheld  the  stubborn 
Anglo-Saxon  courage  which  will  not  recognize  defeat  — 
that  adjustable  piece  of  versified  devotion,  '  God  Save 
the  King,'  or  'Queen,'  as  the  case  may  be  —  is  an  out 
burst  of  enthusiastic  loyalty,  not  for  the  person  of  the 
sovereign,  but  for  the  throne,  the  fiction  of  British  na 
tionality.  The  '  Marseillaise '  is  the  bursting  battle-cry 
of  millions  springing  up  from  earth  to  overturn  and 
avenge  the  tyranny  of  centuries.  The  German  nation 
al  songs  are  simply  crystallizations  of  the  idea  of  home, 
the  fatherland,  nativity,  regarded  as  an  impulse  to  mar 
tial  prowess. 

"  Our  own  national  songs  curiously  illustrate  the 
same  principle.  '  Yankee  Doodle'  was  the  type  of  the 
Eevolutionary  era,  almost  all  the  songs  of  which  repre- 


THE   VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  221 

sent  a  people  keenly  alive  to  their  own  deficiencies, 
employing  the  ridicule  of  their  more  cultured  and  ar 
rogant  enemies  to  convey  a  half-jocose  defiance.  The 
same  spirit  continued  to  inspire  that  remarkable  burst 
of  song  with  which  you  people  of  the  North  celebrated 
the  victories  of  our  second  struggle  with  the  mother 
country.  None  of  these  really  obtained  any  secure  hold 
upon  the  people  of  the  South.  Even  '  Yankee  Doodle ' 
continued  to  have  much  of  the  original  significance 
which  it  possessed  when  the  British  soldiery  first  piped 
it  in  derision  of  the  New  England  yeomanry.  "What 
we  have  generally  considered  our  special  national  an 
thems  have  been  pitched  upon  a  key  a  little  more  ex 
alted  than  that  of  our  British  cousins,  and  a  little  less 
domestic  than  that  of  the  German  national  lyric.  c  Hail 
Columbia '  is  openly  modeled  on  *  Kule  Britannia,'  and 
as  a  piece  of  national  braggadocio  is  even  less  merito 
rious. 

"  The  Star  Spangled  Banner '  touches  a  higher  plane 
of  sentiment ;  and  the  picture  of  the  patriot  watching 
in  the  early  morning  for  the  flag  the  night  had  hidden, 
gives  force  and  pathos  to  the  appeal  to  the  God  of  bat 
tles.  The  burst  of  grateful  acclamation  with  which,  in 
the  last  stanza,  deliverance  in  the  past,  protection  for 
the  future,  the  peaceful  home  and  the  scath  of  devas 
tating  war,  are  all  blended  in  one  swift-rushing  pano 
rama  of  picture-painting  words  —  is  almost  worthy  of 
the  national  life  it  commemorated,  besides  representing 
fairly  well  the  devotional  spirit  of  that  time.  We  had 
not  then  passed  the  age  of  self.  Patriotism  knew  but 
two  great  impulses  —  devotion  to  the  land  of  one's  birth 


222  THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE. 

or  adoption,  and  the  assertion  of  individual  right  by 
the  masses  of  an  oppressed  people.  The  Covenanter 
spirit  —  that  strange  compound  of  the  Anglican  sense 
of  duty,  and  the  Jewish  idea  of  Jehovah,  the  stern, 
inflexible  avenger  —  still  ruled  the  world.  The  sanctity 
of  humanity  was  yet  uncomprehended.  The  nation 
looked  to  the  God  of  their  fathers,  sang  his  praises,  and 
implored  his  protection  in  the  fervid  strains  of  this 
much-abused  song : 

Oh,  thus  be  it  ever  when  freemen  shall  stand 
Between  their  loved  homes  and  the  war's  desolation. 

Self -preservation,  deliverance  from  evil  which  threat 
ened  not  only  the  land  as  an  abstraction,  but  the  peo 
ple  and  their  homes,  were  the  motives  which  stirred 
then  the  popular  heart.  The  struggle  for  national  ex 
istence  was  still  fresh  enough  in  the  hearts  of  our  peo 
ple  to  give  a  peculiar  force  to  the  verse, 
"  Praise  the  power  which  hath  made  and  preserved  us  a  Nation." 

The  justice  of  our  cause  —  the  defensive  war  of  a  young 
nationality  —  is  alleged  as  the  chief  hope  of  victory  and 
the  reason  of  our  trust  in  God. 

"  Taken  as  a  whole,  Ben  Nathan,  I  am  inclined  to 
count  the  <  Star  Spangled  Banner'  the  broadest,  noblest, 
sweetest,  and  tenderest  of  all  national  lyrics  up  to  the 
beginning  of  our  great  civil  war.  Its  dignity  is  of  that 
unconscious  kind  that  best  of  all  belits  a  nation  of  free 
men.  There  is  not  a  hint  of  revenge  or  barbarism  or 
boastfulness  in  it.  It  is  Miriam's  hymn  of  rejoicing 
refined  and  purified  by  the  Christian  sentiment  of 
home,  the  aspirations  of  a  newly -planted  national  life, 


THE   VETEBAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  223 

and  the  trustful  hope  of  a  new-born  civilization.  Like 
all  that  came  before  the  climacteric  era  of  our  national 
life,  however,  it  is  infinitely  below  that  marvelous  burst 
of  song  that  ushered  in  the  conflict  and  inspired  every 
step  in  the  onward  march  of  your  armies.  You  have 
scorned  and  forgotten  the  inspiration  of  that  day,  and 
your  children  hardly  know  the  words  of  the  old  songs ; 
but  the  spirit  which  they  typified,  and  the  devotion  they 
aroused,  were  the  real  cause  of  the  success  of  your 
arms.  To  that  spirit  is  due  the  triumph  of  the  past 
and  the  peace  of  the  present,  and  to  it  the  future  must 
look  for  its  security  and  glory." 
AUGUST  21,  1885. 


THE  SONGS  OF  TWO  PEOPLES. 


I  ASKED  Pascal  Baines,  after  I  had  heard  him  set 
forth  in  such  appreciative  language  the  merits  of 
"  The  Star-Spangled  Banner,"  what  need  there  was  of  a 
new  National  song,  since  this  embodied  such  noble  senti 
ments  and  embraced  no  word  that  could  in  any  man 
ner  affect  the  sensibilities  of  any  section.  Did  he  think, 
I  inquired,  that  "  The  Bonnie  Blue  Flag  "  had  usurped 
its  place  in  the  sentiments  of  a  portion  of  the  people ! 
"  No,"  he  answered  promptly,  "  it  is  not  that.  As 
a  popular  melody  'The  Bonnie  Blue  Flag'  was  hardly 
a  success  even  at  the  South,  where  it  was  formally  and 
professedly  adopted  as  the  acknowledged  and  au 
thoritative  expression  of  public  sentiment.  It  is 
another  illustration  of  the  fact  that  such  songs  can  not 
be  made  up  according  to  a  prescribed  formula.  So  to 
speak,  it  was  the  recognized  official  metrical  exponent 
of  the  patriotic  sentiment  of  the  Confederacy,  but  it 
had  very  little  hold  on  the  popular  heart.  It  was  sung 
in  the  parlor,  and  was  the  pet  of  good  society,  but 
somehow  or  other  it  never  seemed  to  stir  any  feeling 
that  could  be  accounted  deep  or  permanent,  at  a  time 
when  blood  was  at  fever  heat,  and  each  day's  life 
expunged  the  record  of  yesterday's  sentimentalities. 
It  was  no  doubt  intended  that  it  should  take  the  place 
of  the  old  National  anthem  in  the  minds  of  the  South- 

224 


THE   VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

ern  people,  but  it  signally  failed  to  accomplish  the  task 
assigned  to  it. 

"  Perhaps  one  reason  for  this  was  the  curious  uncer 
tainty  that  prevailed  so  long  as  to  what  really  was  the 
Confederate  flag,  and  the  prominence  given  both  in  the 
field  and  in  the  states  themselves  to  the  different  state 
flags.  The  distinction  between  the  flag  of  the  Con 
federacy  and  the  battle-flag  under  which  its  soldiers  so 
long  marched  to  victory  may  also  have  had  something 
to  do  with  it.  At  all  events,  both  the  flag  and  the 
song  written  in  its  honor  seem  to  have  taken  but  a 
slight  hold  upon  the  hearts  of  the  people.  I  have  my 
self  been  surprised  at  the  transitory  character  of  the 
memories  attaching  to  them.  Even  the  soldiers  of  the 
Confederacy  seem  to  have  had  no  romantic  attach 
ment  for  its  flag  —  at  least  none  that  survives  the  mem 
ory  of  defeat.  I  doubt  if  half  my  surviving  comrades 
could  to-day  tell  what  the  flag  was  like  which  they 
followed  so  faithfully  through  the  varying  fortunes  of 
four  years  of  strife.  Probably  no  great  revolution  ever 
had  so  evanescent  an  emblem.  The  ( stars  and  bars,' 
even  in  the  heat  of  the  conflict,  did  not  seem  to  have 
any  great  hold  upon  the  popular  fancy.  I  think  "  Stone 
wall  Jackson "  was.  right  in  the  statement  generally 
attributed  to  him,  that  it  was  '  a  great  mistake  to  try 
to  divide  the  National  flag  as  well  as  the  National 
territory.'  The  truth  is,  that  both  in  name  and  fact, 
the  '  stars  and  bars '  were  but  a  feeble  imitation  of  the 
'  stars  and  stripes.'  If  a  strong  distinctive  emblem  had 
been  adopted  it  would  have  been  remembered  both  by 
friend  and  foe,  and  would  have  constituted  an  undying 
15 


226  THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

feature  of  the  romance  which  is  sure  to  blossom  on  the 
grave  of  unsuccessful  revolution. 

"No,  it  was  not  this  flag  —  an  intended  counterfeit 
of  the  one  it  was  designed  especially  to  oppose  and 
subvert  —  nor  the  song  consecrated  to  its  exaltation 
that  lessened  the  power  of  the  i  Star-spangled  Banner ' 
as  a  National  melody.  The  simple  fact  is  that  the  idea 
it  was  designed  especially  to  perpetuate  and  enforce, 
the  idea  of  national  preservation  and  security  against 
the  assaults  of  foreign  power,  lost  its  force  and  interest 
in  the  presence  of  a  more  intense  and  vital  thought. 
The  second  war  with  England  not  only  put  an  end  to 
all  fear  of  invasion  on  the  part  of  our  people,  but  the 
songs  of  exultation  which  its  brief  but  brilliant  record 
evoked  had  hardly  become  familiar  when  the  shadow 
of  a  still  greater  danger  began  to  show  itself  in  our 
life.  The  invader  was  forgotten  in  the  heat  and  fury 
of  that  internal  discord  which  culminated  in  the  war, 
not  for  the  dissolution  of  the  Union,  but  for  the  par 
tition  of  its  power  and  the  duplication  of  its  fran 
chises. 

"Did  it  ever  strike  you  as  a  curious  thing,  Ben 
Nathan,  that  the  revolt  of  the  Southern  people  was 
intended  not  to  subvert,  destroy,  modify,  or  avoid  the 
Government  of  the  United  States,  but  to  establish 
another  nationality  not  only  of  the  same  general  char 
acter,  but  even  in  its  details  substantially  identical  with 
it  ?  It  is,  perhaps,  the  first  instance  in  history  in 
which  revolution  has  not  at  least  demanded  change,  and 
in  which  sedition  could  only  offer  a  vague  apprehension 
in  excuse  for  its  acts.  Yet  that  apprehension  was 


THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  227 

based  on  an  instinctive  appreciation  of  radical  and 
incurable  differences  which  had  already  parted  the 
country  in  twain  long  before  the  first  gun  was  trained 
against  the  walls  of  Sumter.  The  shadow  of  this  great 
crisis  —  the  knowledge  of  our  supreme  danger  as  a 
nation  —  had  rested  over  us  for  well-nigh  half  a  century, 
growing  every  moment  more  and  more  sharply  out 
lined.  A  generation  had  already  grown  up  in  its 
umbrage.  A  quarter  of  a  century  before,  dismember 
ment  had  been  openly  and  persistently  advocated. 
From  that  time  onward  it  had  been  a  matter  of  con 
tinuous  and  hardly  covert  threat.  The  shadow  of 
sedition  eclipsed  the  fear  of  invasion.  We  lost  our 
terror  of  the  stranger,  in  our  apprehension  of  forcible 
partition  among  the  heirs  of  our  glory. 

"It  is  said  that  the  lightest  scratch  upon  the  heart 
—  the  merest  touch  of  the  sharpest  instrument  or  the 
point  of  the  finest  needle  —  thrills  the  strongest  nature 
with  the  most  abject  and  overwhelming  fear.  It  is  no 
wonder  the  nation  trembled.  It  was  cut  across  the 
heart  by  the  sharp  sword  of  controversy.  Its  vital 
tissues  were  pricked  by  the  adamantine  spear-points  of 
irreconci liable  difference.  The  climacteric  conflict  be 
tween  right  and  wrong  was  impending,  and  in  the 
dimly  seen  havoc  which  lay  between  the  related  forces 
we  forgot  to  be  grateful  for  past  deliverance,  or  appre 
hensive  of  future  harm  from  foreign  power.  The 
'  Star-spangled  Banner '  lost  its  significance  as  a  national 
anthem  when  the  conscience  of  a  part  of  our  people  was 
ready  to  put  individual  right  above  national  unity,  while 
another  wing  were  ready  to  subvert  the  national  exist- 


228  THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE. 

ence  in  order  to  secure  legal  privilege  and  perpetuate, 
social  rank. 

The  South  put  the  right  to  own  and  control  the 
slave  above  the  national  peace,  and  the  abolitionist  was 
willing  to  see  the  Union  disrupted  because  the  shield  of 
its  authority  protected  and  perpetuated  slavery.  No 
wonder  the  nation  forgot  the  invader.  The  germ  of 
peril  lay  hidden  in  its  own  life.  Liberty  anathematized 
the  Federal  compact  because  it  permitted  slavery  to 
exist.  Slavery  abjured  the  union  of  states  because  it 
apprehended  an  inclination  not  to  observe  the  letter  of 
the  compact.  It  was  a  conflict  between  the  written 
law  on  which  our  nation  claims  to  rest  its  existence, 
and  the  'higher  law'  to  which,  it  was  claimed,  our 
civilization  is  due.  There  was  this  curious  condition 
attendant  upon  this  conflict:  Whichever  view  pre 
vailed,  the  nation  was  threatened  with  destruction. 
This  fact  was  apparent  to  every  one  and  for  a  quarter 
of  a  century  formed  the  basis  of  continuous  and  success 
ful  entreaty  addressed  alternately  to  the  lovers  of 
liberty  and  the  champions  of  slavery.  The  former 
were  besought  to  moderate  their  zeal  for  the  right,  in 
the  hope  that  time  would  bring  a  peaceful  and  happy 
remedy  in  some  far  future,  when  greed  and  prejudice 
should  relax  their  hold  upon  human  nature.  The  lat 
ter  were  in  like  manner  importuned  by  the  same  class 
of  doubting  patriots,  to  wait  and  trust  to  time  to  teach 
the  liberty -loving  fanatics  of  the  North  that  the  Union 
with  slavery  was  preferable  to  liberty  without  the 
Union.  This  conflict,  in  its  various  phases,  dwarfed  all 
other  thought.  Yery  naturally  it  left  its  impress  on  our 


THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  229 

popular  songs,  and  in  the  end  inspired  the  noblest 
patriotic  hymnody  which  the  world  has  ever  known. 
"  Perhaps  nothing  more  curious  than  the  develop 
ment  which  followed  in  the  line  of  patriotic  song  was 
ever  known.  I  do  not  refer  to  the  distinctively  con 
troversial  or  doctrinal  songs,  which  constituted  a  spe 
cific  part  of  the  armament  of  the  Abolitionists.  The 
old  Garrisonian  war-cry  was  a  fit  example  of  rhythmic 
arguments,  now  rusty  and  forgotten,  like  old  armor  on 
an  ancient  castle  wall : 

We  will  speak  out  —  we  will  be  heard, 

Though  all  earth's  systems  crack, 
We  will  not  bate  a  single  word 

Nor  take  a  letter  back. 

"  They  were  bright  and  effective  weapons  then, 
however,  and  many  of  them  of  celestial  temper.  Most 
of  them  were  too  keen  for  anything  but  warfare,  and 
did  not  yield  themselves  readily  to  simulated  senti 
ment.  With  rare  exceptions,  they  were  wielded  only 
by  professionals,  and  cannot  be  said  to  have  become  in 
any  proper  sense  popular  songs. 

"  Such  was  not  the  case,  however,  with  that  other 
class  of  songs  which  the  fixing  of  public  attention  upon 
the  negro  no  doubt  brought  into  existence.  I  mean,  of 
course,  those  curious  blend  ings  of  exaggerated  senti 
ment  and  pathetic  drollery  which  permitted  the  mar 
riage  of  minor  chords  and  a  jig  movement,  known  as 
k  negro  melodies.'  Intentionally  or  unintentionally, 
these  melodies  became  instrumentalities  in  the  great 
conflict.  Perhaps  their  primary  purpose  was  ridicule. 
At  this  time  no  one  can  tell.  It  may  have  been  hoped 


230  THE    VETEKAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

that,  in  this  case  as  in  all  others,  familiarity  would 
breed  contempt.  If  so,  the  purpose  failed.  However 
absurd  the  sentiment  or  exaggerated  the  action  may 
have  been,  the  refrain  of  the  slave's  sad  fate  was  sure 
to  crop  out  somewhere  in  the  rude  syllables,  and  find 
proper  setting  in  its  quaint  and  bizarre  measures. 

"  Perhaps  the  most  startling  and  unforeseen  incident 
connected  with  the  introduction  of  the  negro  melody, 
was  the  amazing  popularity  of  this  class  of  songs  among 
the  people  of  the  South.  Though  some  of  them  seemed 
to  have  been  expressly  designed  to  direct  attention  to, 
and  awaken  sympathy  for,  the  pitiable  injustice  of  the 
slave's  hard  fate,  no  public  sentiment  could  restrain 
their  spread  among  the  Southern  people.  Slavery  has 
unquestionably  left  a  negroid  stamp  upon  Southern 
thought  and  sentiment,  just  as  it  has  broadened  our 
vowels,  strengthened  our  labials  and  modified  almost 
every  forrn  of  our  speech.  It  was  a  game  of  give  and 
take  —  the  white  man  taking  purposely  the  slave's  lib 
erty —  his  unrequited  toil  —  and  giving  unconsciously 
year  by  year  something  of  his  own  manhood  to  trans 
form  the  African  into  an  American.  The  master  was 
undoubtedly  compelled  by  the  irony  of  fate  to  bear 
something  of  his  slave's  burden  and  take  on  tongue  and 
brain  the  stamp  of  his  generic  attributes.  Out  of  these 
facts  it  arose  that  the  song  to  which  the  footsteps  of 
your  soldiers  echoed  on  their  unresting  march  to  vic 
tory,  was  but  the  creaking  of  the  gallows-tree  at 
Charlestown,  made  comprehensible  by  words  irrelevant 
and  quaint  enough  to  suit  themselves  to  the  life  the 
maniac-martyr  had  lived  and  the  unlawful  but  benefi- 


THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  231 

cent  purpose  for  which  he  had  died.  At  the  same  time, 
the  South  took  from  the  negro's  lips  the  song  which  it 
not  only  made  its  real  national  anthem,  but  with  strange 
inconsistency  constituted  also  the  battle-cry  of  a  con 
flict  waged  for  the  perpetuation  of  slavery. 

"  These  two  songs  were  the  product  and  types  of 
the  two  great  forces  which  our  civilization  had  devel 
oped.  The  symbol  and  demonstration  of  the  two  peo 
ples  which  had  resulted  from  our  national  life.  They 
were  national  songs,  each  expressing  in  a  quaint  and 
unique  manner  the  dominant  thought  of  a  distinct  and 
peculiar  people.  The  Abolition  sentiment  of  the  North 
had  sailed  so  long  under  false  colors  that  even  this  song, 
which  so  faithfully  forecasted  its  final  triumph,  did  it 
under  a  figure  so  obscure  that  it  could  even  then  be 
readily  disowned.  So  the  army  which  marched  to  its 
resonant  swinging  measures,  the  soldiers  who  sang  this 
strange,  weird  anthem  of  universal  liberty  and  were 
inspired  by  the  seductive  glory  of  its  sentiments,  fought 
for  two  years  under  the  express  and  repeated  declara 
tions  of  their  government,  the  press,  and  the  people  of 
the  North,  that  they  had  no  hostile  purpose  or  inimical 
design  against  the  institution  of  slavery. 

"  Chanting  hourly  the  praise  of  the  prophet  who 
had  foretold  its  downfall  and  made  himself  the  first 
voluntary  victim  in  the  crusade  for  its  overthrow,  they 
persistently  denied  the  leadership  of  the  soul  which 
marched  ever  on  and  on  with  them  to  the  fulfillment  of 
the  purpose  for  which  he  had  lived  and  died. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  it,  Ben  Nathan,  but  there  is  no 
denying  the  assertion  that  the  people  of  the  North  went 


232  THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

into  battle  under  false  colors.  You  said  one  thing  with 
your  lips  and  in  your  hearts  thought  another  and  quite 
different  thing.  Your  words  were  intended  to  induce 
the  South  to  trust  to  the  sincerity  of  your  declaration 
that  you  did  not  desire  the  overthrow  of  slavery,  and 
would  continue  in  the  future  even  more  faithfully  than 
in  the  past,  to  cherish  and  protect  the  institution.  But 
the  chosen  battle-song  of  your  mustering  legions  spoke 
the  real  truth.  The  thought,  the  soul  of  John  Brown, 
hidden  beneath  specious  words  and  subtly  grotesque 
phrasing,  was  the  animating  impulse.  You  fought 
shamefacedly  for  the  liberty  of  the  slave.  For  that 
liberty  you  were  not  afraid  to  face  death  upon  the  field 
of  battle ;  but  you  were  so  afraid  of  the  taunts  and 
jeers  of  the  white  people  of  the  South  —  you  had 
shrunk  so  long  from  the  obloquy  of  being  called  a  na 
tion  of  negro-lovers  and  negro-worshipers  —  that  it 
was  not  until  the  pains  of  continuous  defeat  had  dead 
ened  your  super-sensitiveness  and  brought  you  face  to 
face  with  the  certain  prospect  of  ultimate  disaster,  that 
you  were  brave  enough  to  avow  your  real  motive,  and 
proclaim  the  liberty  which  you  had  all  the  time  secretly 
hoped  to  achieve. 

"  On  the  other  hand,  the  South  mustered  her  hosts  to 
the  quaint  Africo- American  strains  of  "  Dixie."  With 
us,  at  least,  there  was  no  false  pretense.  We  avowed 
slavery  to  be  the  corner-stone  of  our  revolt,  and  hung 
its  colors  on  our  helm.  With  instinctive  scorn  and  in 
brave  defiance  of  the  spirit  of  your  mystical  and  equiv 
ocal  ode,  we  caught  from  the  slave's  lips  the  measures 
which  expressed  with  contemptuous  defiance  the  dis- 


THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  233 

tinctiveness  and  perfectibility  of  the  South,  as  a  nation 
—  a  people  —  an  organized  existence.  Words  could 
not  more  forcibly  express  the  exultant  content  of  a 
peculiar  and  distinctive  nationality.  Our  "  Dixie  "  told 
the  whole  story.  It  was  the  emblem  of  our  chosen 
land  —  a  distinct  nationality.  Even  yet  you  know 
nothing  of  its  significance  and  I  could  not  elucidate  to 
you  its  force.  It  meant  our  land  —  our  life  —  the  mys 
tic  potency  of  a  peculiar  people.  It  was  the  banner- 
cry  of  the  South  —  as  it  was  —  as  we  were  determined 
that  it  should  remain.  We  fought  exulting  in  the 
wrong,  the  scath  and  the  peril  of  slavery  —  proud  of 
all  those  things  that  in  the  future  must  cover  us  with 
shame !  You  fought  as  if  ashamed  of  the  liberty  you 
yearned  to  achieve,  but  dared  not  write  upon  your 
banners. 

"  So  the  dirge  of  '  Old  John  Brown '  went  wailing 
on  to  the  victory  which  its  instruments  have  made  haste 
to  disavow ;  while  the  defiant  strains  of  "  Dixie  "  rang 
out  as  cheerily  after  Appomattox  as  on  the  morning  of 
the  first  Bull  Run.  It  is  one  of  those  strange  melo 
dies  that  not  only  inspires  and  prepares  for  victory, 
but  consoles  defeat  with  something  of  that  faith  which 
would  not  feel  discouragement,  with  which  the  slave 
looked  forward  to  the  jubilee." 

AUGUST  28,  1885. 


THE  CLIMAX  OF  DEVOTION. 


I  WAS  much  impressed  by  the  views  which  Pascal 
Raines  had  expressed,  and  after  he  had  left  my  room 
and  I  had  heard  the  somewhat  heavy  footfall  which — 
despite  the  best  that  mechanical  skill  can  do  for  the 
unfortunate,  will  mark  the  steps  of  him  who  wears  an 
artificial  limb — as  he  went  down  the  long  corridor  to 
his  own  room.  I  sat  for  a  long  time,  Blower,  taking 
deep  suspirations  of  the  balmy  vapor  which  rises  from 
the  incense  burning  in  your  bowl  and  peopling  the 
azure  clouds  that  rose  before  my  dreaming  eyes  Avith 
battling  hosts  that  chanted  as  they  fought  wierd  songs 
whose  grotesque  melody  was  full  of  strange  mystical 
significance.  In  my  vision  these  were  transformed  into 
mighty  forces,  and  one  of  them  —  as  grim  of  feature 
as  those  gnomic  faces  which  the  earthquake  and  the 
tempest  carve  upon  the  mountain's  granite  outlines  — 
this  one  strode  calm  and  unruffled  through  the  mighty 
tumult,  cast  down  his  grim,  sardonic  enemy,  and  held 
him  lightly  but  secure  upon  the  ground.  And  while  I 
watched,  the  giant  faded,  and  in  his  place  a  great  obse 
quious  lackey  stood,  who  lifted  from  the  earth  the 
captive,  brushed  the  dust  of  battle  off,  and  then  stood, 
cap  in  hand,  waiting  to  do  his  bidding.  Somehow, 
Blower,  this  queer  vision  which  I  saw  so  plainly  pic 
tured  in  the  smoke  wreaths,  pursued  my  fancy  all  night 

234 


THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  235 

long ;  and  in  my  dreams  I  mourned  for  that  calm  pres- 
ense,  giant-like  and  yet  benign,  which  strode  across  the 
Held  of  strife,  without  one  trace  of  passion,  resolute 
yet  kind,  and  brought  an  end  of  conflict.  I  seemed  to 
love  the  uncouth,  mighty  presence,  and  to  feel  as  if  the 
spruce,  obsequious  lackey  who  had  come  to  take  his 
place  was  hardly  an  equivalent  for  his  loss.  It  was  but 
a  dreaming  fancy,  however,  and  no  doubt  a  very  foolish 
one. 

The  morning  sun  dispelled  these  morbid  fancies, 
and  when  our  foeman-friend  came  to  my  room 
for  an  after-breakfast  whiff  —  a  common  custom  now 
that  the  bass  have  stopped  biting  for  a  time  —  I  was 
almost  ready  to  laugh  over  them.  Such  was  not  his 
mood,  however.  He  is  rarely  so  mirthfully  inclined 
of  late  as  was  his  wont.  I  cannot  understand  why 
it  is.  He  seems  to  have  an  ineradicable  fondness  for 
speculating  in  regard  to  our  National  life  and  public 
affairs.  Yet  no  one  would  dream  of  regarding  him  as 
a  politician.  He  is  a  contemner  of  parties  except  as  in 
strumentalities  for  the  accomplishment  of  great  pur 
poses,  and  mocks  at  the  fine-spun  theories  of  those  who 
would  substitute  prescribed  systems  and  inflexible  rules 
for  public  conscience  and  the  enlightened  judgment  of 
the  people.  Unlike  our  best  and  wisest,  he  does  not 
seem  to  think  that  the  past  died  with  yesterday. 
Somehow"  or  other  he  claims  that  in  its  elements  it  still 
subsists.  He  is  fond  of  referring  to  "Time's  eternal 
repetend  —  Yesterday,  To-day,  and  To-morrow."  This 
he  counts  an  existence  which  is  indivisible  and  yet  dis 
tinctly  tripartite.  To  him  the  good  and  evil  of  To-day 


236  THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE. 

are  but  the  fruits  of  Yesterday's  seeding.  The  first 
step  to  ward  healing  the  woes  of  To-day,  or  securing 
the  tranquility  of  To-morrow,  he  declares  to  be  a  full 
knowledge  of  Yesterday's  good  and  evil,  its  strength  and 
its  infirmity.  Because  of  a  neglect  of  this  knowledge 
on  the  part  of  the  present  —  a  failure  to  recognize  this 
fundamental  truth  of  history  —  he  apprehends  vital 
error,  if  not  grave  disaster,  in  the  future. 

Last  night  I  found  it  well  nigh  impossible  to  resist 
the  influence  of  his  foreboding.  But  this  morning  I 
pointed  to  the  sun  shining  bright  above  the  rippling 
waters  and  exclaimed  reproachfully :  "  Behold  a  new 
day.  Now, 

while  the  West  bin  red  to  see, 

And  storms  be  none,  and  pirates  flee 
Why  sing  "  The  Brides  of  Enderby  ?" 

"  Do  I  ?"  he  asked,  as  he  filled  his  pipe  and  sank 
into  the  willow  rocker  that  creaked  complainingly  un 
der  his  goodly  weight. 

"  Do  you  ?"  I  answered.  "  Has  not  your  merciless 
dissection  of  our  country's  patriotic  melodies  sufficed 
to  fill  the  night  with  dolorous  visions?" 

Then  I  told  him  of  my  dream  as  if  he  had  been  a 
soothsayer  from  whom  I  sought  its  interpretation. 

"  My  good  Ben  Nathan,"  he  said,  after  a  few  con 
templative  puffs  at  the  long  root  stem  which  he  twisted 
carelessly  in  his  fingers  as  he  spoke,  "  it  needs  no 
Joseph  to  translate  your  dream.  It  was  indeed  but  the 
inevitable  conclusion  of  that  course  of  thought  we  had 
so  pleasantly  pursued  together  before  I  bade  you  good 
night.  The  consciousness  which  you  strive  to  slay  by 


THE    VETERAN   AND   HIS    PIPE.  237 

specious  reasoning  asserted  itself  in  your  dream.  Learn 
from  it  that  the  accidents  of  warfare  do  not  make  or 
unmake  peoples.  Boundary  lines  do  not  differentiate 
populations.  The  line  of  demarkation  is  traced  in 
divergent  natures  and  contrasted  impulses.  You  do 
not  realize  even  yet  what  the  difference  between  l  Old 
John  Brown'  and  *  Dixie'  really  signified. 

"  To  me  it  is  a  matter  of  amazement  that  the  intelli 
gence  and  culture  of  the  North  should  be  willing  to 
subordinate  or  even  to  ignore  the  grandest  element  of 
your  past.  Nay,  I  will  go  farther,  Ben  Nathan,  and 
say  the  grandest  impulse  that  ever  inspired  a  nation 
to  engage  in  conflict.  Men  have  fought  only  too 
often  for  greed  and  glory.  The  love  of  conquest  has 
inspired  to  gallant  deeds  whose  mere  recital  has  thrilled 
the  pulses  of  unnumbered  generations.  Men  have 
wrought  marvels  of  heroism  for  home  and  country. 
Warfare  has  been  made  the  instrument  of  faith,  and 
men  have  sought  with  unquestioning  zeal  to  secure  a 
peaceful  immortality  for  themselves,  by  compelling 
others  to  abjure  the  errors  of  unbelief.  No  people 
were  ever  before  inspired  with  so  high,  so  noble,  so 
unselfish  a  purpose,  however,  as  that  which  animated 
the  North  in  its  struggle  with  the  Confederacy." 

"Yes,  indeed,"  I  murmured,  in  modest  recognition 
of  this  overwhelming  commendation,  "the  preservation 
of  the  Union,  not  merely  for  ourselves,  but  for  you, 
also,  to  enjoy,  was  a  glorious  purpose." 

"  Yes,  Ben  Nathan,"  Pascal  Raines  responded,  with 
a  laugh  which  was  not  altogether  complimentary  in  its 
tone,  "  that  was  a  good  purpose  which  you  professed, 


238  THE   VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

but  it  was  base  and  mean  in  comparison  with  the  one 
you  denied  and  tried  to  conceal.  As  a  motive  for  war, 
the  mere  preservation  of  the  Union  —  the  assertion  of 
the  national  sovereignty  over  certain  definite  limits — 
was  neither  an  unusual  nor  an  especially  exalted  impulse 
to  an  aggressive  warfare  such  as  the  Nation  really 
waged.  It  did  not  compare  in  nobility  and  grandeur 
with  the  motive  that  inspired  the  Southern  people. 
They  fought  for  their  homes  —  '  their  altars  and  their 
fires'  in  very  truth.  I  will  even  go  farther  and  say 
that  they  fought  for  exactly  the  same  principle  that 
animated  our  forefathers  in  their  rebellion  against 
Great  Britian  —  the  collective  right  of  a  people  to  gov 
ern  themselves  according  to  their  own  ideas. 

"  I  know  it  makes  you  wince,  my  friend.  You  have 
been  accustomed  to  think  that  all  the  right,  all  the 
glory  of  devotion  to  principle,  was  on  your  side  the  line, 
and  all  that  was  base  and  selfish  and  unjust  on  the 
other.  Yet  I  tell  you  plainly,  Ben  Nathan,  that  if  you 
but  '  stand  upon  your  declaration,'  as  the  lawyers  say, 
the  verdict  of  history  must,  and  ought  to  be,  entered 
up  against  you.  The  ethical  principles  which  govern 
nations  and  peoples  in  the  assertion  and  maintenance 
of  sovereignty  are  not  yet  very  clearly  defined.  In 
what  we,  with  a  quaint,  almost  farcical  humor,  call 
international  law,  the  end  always  justifies  the  means, 
and  might  is  almost  always  the  sole  criterion  of 
right. 

"  The  result  of  our  war  has  sanctified  the  claim  you 
make  of  having  fought  for  the  preservation  of  national 
unity.  On  that  ground  alone,  however,  it  is  hardly 


THE    VETEBAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  239 

more  defensible  than  the  German  conquest  of  Alsace- 
Lorraine. 

"Did  you  ever  stop  to  analyze  the  equities  involved 
upon  this  issue  ?  Let  us  put  aside  the  question  of  state- 
rights  and  admit  that  your  interpretation  of  the  Con 
stitution  was  correct,  and  what  have  we  ?  Our  fore 
fathers,  so  to  speak,  had  made  a  contract  that  they  and 
their  descendants  should  constitute  a  people  —  a  Nation, 
if  you  please.  What  moral  right  had  they  to  bind  a 
people  for  all  time,  or  what  moral  right  had  a  portion 
of  that  people  to  compel  another  portion  to  submit 
unwillingly  to  its  continuance  ?  By  legal  analogy  we 
might  be  termed  tenants  in  common  in  whom  the  right 
of  partition  always  resides.  It  was  not  the  question  of 
the  right  of  a  majority  to  control  and  subjugate  an 
interspersed  and  factious  minority,  but  of  one  section 
or  people  to  hold  by  force  another  seeking  national 
autonomy  for  themselves.  It  was  not  an  attempt  to 
overthrow  or  subvert  an  existing  government.  It  can 
not  properly  be  termed  sedition  or  rebellion.  It  was 
merely  the  spontaneous  action  of  a  whole  people,  occu 
pying  a  definite  portion  of  territory,  to  establish  for 
themselves  an  independent  government  suited  to  their 
own  wants,  conditions  and  ideas. 

"  It  was  no  insignificant  fragment,  either.  Of 
twelve  millions  of  people  there  was  scarcely  a  tithe  of 
that  race  who  alone  were  recognized  as  citizens  —  with 
whom  rested  the  right  and  power  of  the  States  —  who 
either  felt  or  expressed  any  dissatisfaction  with  the  action 
of  the  majority.  Of  course  there  were  some  dissentients 
and  curiously  enough  both  sides,  from  entirely  opposite 


240  THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

motives,  have  sought  to  magnify  their  numbers.  You 
have  done  this  for  the  sake  of  making  it  appear  that 
the  movement  was  factional  and  not  territorial.  We 
have  done  the  same  to  magnify  our  own  prowess  by 
showing  how  hard  it  was  to  conquer  even  a  divided 
South.  One  of  the  shrewdest  things  that  man  of  mar 
velous  sagacity,  Abraham  Lincoln,  did  was  to  encour 
age  the  formation  of  regiments,  nominally  recruited  in 
the  rebellious  states,  but  really  drawing  the  better  part 
of  their  strength  from  Northern  States  whose  own 
quotas  were  already  full.  I  remember  that  we  once 
captured  the  muster-roll  of  a  so-called  Kentucky  regi 
ment  of  Federal  troops.  It  showed  hardly  Kentuckians 
enough  among  its  rank  and  file  to  constitute  a  decent 
company.  The  same  was  true  of  such  corps  as  '  Brown- 
low's  Tennesseans,'  a  whole  company  of  which,  I  have 
been  told,  was  raised  in  one  county  of  the  Western 
Reserve  in  Ohio. 

"  Despite  these  duplicate  pretenses,  however,  there 
was  probably  never  a  revolutionary  movement  in  his 
tory  that  commanded  such  universal  assent  of  the 
people  primarily  affected  by  it  as  the  formation  of 
the  Southern  Confederacy.  Leaving  out  of  consid 
eration  the  colored  race,  the  effort  to  sever  our 
Federal  relations  may  properly  be  said  to  have 
been  unanimous.  Men  doubted,  hesitated,  and  proph 
esied  disaster,  but  in  the  end  not  only  succumbed,  but 
vied  with  the  most  rabid  in  the  maintenance  of  the  cause 
of  Southern  independence.  So  far  as  the  question  of 
right  and  wrong,  as  involved  in  our  pet  theory  of  the 
right  of  self-government,  is  concerned,  in  this  proposed 


THE    VETERAN   AND    HIS    PIPE. 


disruption  of  the  Federal  Union,  the  right  unquestion 
ably  lay  with  us.  If  three  millions  of  people  had  the 
right  to  proclaim  independence  because  self-government 
is  a  natural  right,  then  certainly  eight  millions  of 
whites,  separated  from  the  people  of  the  North  by 
known  and  visible  boundaries,  and  by  still  more  marked 
differences  of  character  and  tradition,  must  have  had  a 
right  to  claim  a  similar  political  autonomy. 

"  This  is  the  way  the  matter  presented  itself  to  the 
Southern  people.  We  thought  we  had  a  right  to  self- 
government  because  we  were  a  distinct  and  peculiar 
people,  occupying  a  distinct  and  separate  territory.  It 
was  for  this  that  we  fought,  and  it  was  in  confident 
faith  that  we  would  receive  divine  aid  in  support  of 
this  principle  that  we  wrote  i  Deo  Vindice  '  upon  our 
banner,  and  appealed  with  confidence  to  the  arbitra 
ment  of  the  sword.  We  not  only  fought  for  what  we 
believed  to  be  a  divine  right,  but  we  merely  waged  a 
defensive  warfare  against  those  who  invaded  the  terri 
tory  of  the  states  whose  people  had  declared  in  favor 
of  adhesion  to  the  Confederacy.  '  Dixie  '  fitly  symbol 
ized  our  motive  and  purpose.  We  fought  for  a  distinct 
and  peculiar  people,  for  control  of  a  specific  territory, 
for  a  new  nationality  —  '  Dixie  Land.'  We  were  re 
solved  '  to  live  and  die  '  in  this  newly-born,  unrecog 
nized  "Dixie,"  and  were  willing  to  live  and  die  for  her 
liberty  —  for  the  right  of  a  great  people  to  govern 
themselves." 

"  It  may  be  a  new  view  of  the  matter  to  you,  Ben 
Nathan.  The  faculty  of  seeing  the  other  side  is  not  a 
very  usual  one.  It  was  thus  that  the  question  present- 
16 


242  THE    VETEKAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

ed  itself  to  our  minds,  laying  aside  all  quirks  and 
technicalities,  and  considering  only  the  great  principle 
which  underlies  the  American  theory  of  self -govern 
ment.  Viewed  from  that  standpoint,  I  have  never  yet 
seen  any  occasion  to  modify  the  conviction  of  a  quar 
ter  of  a  century  ago.  If  we  had  succeeded,  the  world 
would  have  indorsed  this  theory  and  applauded  our 
devotion  to  principle. 

"  You  are  wrong,  however,  in  declaring  the  mainte 
nance  of  the  Union  to  have  been  the  controlling  mo 
tive  of  your  people  and  government.  Right  or  wrong, 
absurd  or  wise,  maniac  or  martyr,  the  soul  of  John 
Brown  not  only  marched  with  your  troops  but  inspired 
them  with  a  spirit  of  marvelous  self-sacrifice.  Your 
soldiers  fought  neither  for  fame  nor  dominion.  The 
lust  of  conquest  never  influenced  their  hearts.  No 
spirit  of  revenge  or  prospect  of  advantage  spurred 
them  to  the  gigantic  efforts  required  to  defeat  and 
crush  a  people  so  brave  and  a  nationality  so  instinct 
with  harmonious  vitality  as  our  confederacy.  It  was  a 
purpose  nobler  than  the  love  of  liberty,  grander  than 
the  instinct  of  patriotism.  Shirk  it  as  you  will,  deny 
it  as  you  may,  the  one  crowning  glory  of  your  part  in 
that  great  struggle  —  the  one  thing  that  for  all  time 
will  mark  it  as  unprecedented  in  moral  grandeur  —  is 
the  fact  that  you  fought  bravely,  died  willingly,  and 
triumphed  modestly,  not  for  your  own  advantage,  not 
to  secure  your  children's  liberties,  but  to  give  liberty 
and  equality  of  right  and  privilege  to  a  people  debased, 
untried,  branded  with  the  mark  of  servitude,  and  sepa 
rated  by  the  insuperable  wall  of  race  from  your  appre- 


THE   VETEKAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  243 

ciative  sympathy  or  intimate  alliance.  You  overthrew 
the  Confederacy  in  order  that  you  might  free  the 
slave. 

"  The  sense  of  the  dignity  and  glory  of  individual 
right  had  become  so  ingrained  in  the  Northern  mind 
that  no  peril  could  daunt,  no  difficulty  discourage,  and 
no  hardship  deter  them  from  the  accomplishment  of 
this  purpose.  This  was  the  great  fact  of  that  epoch, 
the  real  work  of  the  Northern  armies,  and  the  real  im 
pulse  which  inspired  the  Northern  mind.  The  preser 
vation  of  the  Union  was  but  an  incident  —  the  means 
for  the  achievement  of  the  greater  end  —  the  cover  of  a 
grander  purpose.  It  was  this  that  lifted  your  people 
to  a  pinnacle  of  unselfish  and  heroic  devotion  that  had 
never  been  attained  by  any  popular  movement  before. 
You  fought  your  brothers  and  kinsmen,  those  to 
whom  the  ties  of  race  and  the  traditions  of  the  past 
bound  you  with  peculiar  force,  in  order  to  lift  up  the 
poor,  the  weak  and  despised  —  the  alien  by  race  and  in 
ferior  by  tradition  —  because  convinced  that  he  had 
a  right  to  be  free !  I  confess,  Ben  lSrathan,  that  when  I 
think  of  this  I  gladly  doff  my  hat  to  the  '  Yankee ' 
whom  in  many  respects  I  but  little  esteem,  cheerfully 
admitting  that  in  this  act  —  no  matter  whether  it  was  a 
wise  .or  foolish  one — he  reached  a  level  of  common 
purpose  and  manifested  an  unselfishness  in  his  devotion 
to  a  glorious  idea,  which  no  other  people  in  any  age  or 
clime  have  ever  yet  attained.  In  good  or  evil  results 
the  emancipation  of  four  millions  of  slaves  must  ere 
long  eclipse  in  importance  the  preservation  of  the  na 
tional  territory  from  rupture,  and  the  power  of  the 


244  THE   VETEEAN   AND    HIS   PIPE. 

republic  from  impairment.  The  world  already  knows 
it  better  as  a  struggle  for  liberty  than  as  a  war  for  ter 
ritorial  unity.  Almost  under  the  shadow  of  the  pole, 
the  Finnish  peasant  reads  today  the  story  of  our  strug 
gle  under  the  name  and  style  of  *  The  History  of  the 
War  for  Emancipation.'  That  is  what  it  means  to  the 
rest  of  the  world,  and  what  it  must  ultimately  mean  to 
us.  The  greater  fact  must  ultimately  swallow  up  the 
lesser. 

"I  cannot  understand  why  you,  as  a  people,  and 
especially  those  who  claim  to  be  wiser  than  others, 
should  so  persistently  and  shamefacedly  disavow  and 
ignore  the  very  thing  that  sheds  the  brightest  luster  on 
your  fame.  For  my  part,  I  regret  most  sincerely  that 
the  giant  of  your  dream  is  dead. 

"  How  came  I  to  be  thus  appreciative  of  the  im 
pulse  that  held  the  North  like  a  sleuth-hound  on  the 
trail  of  the  confident  and  exulting  South?  I  do  not 
wonder  at  your  inquiry,  my  friend.  The  persistency 
with  which  even  then  you  denied  the  real  purpose 
that  animated  your  hosts  and  inspired  your  people, 
and  set  up  instead  a  meaner  and  lower  purpose,  may 
well  have  hidden  from  the  eyes  of  foemen  the  real 
grandeur  of  your  devotion.  I  heard  it  better  denned 
by  one  of  my  own  comrades  in  the  very  heat  of  that 
struggle,  than  it  ever  has  been  by  any  of  the  golden- 
mouthed  eulogists  of  your  victory.  We  were  in  winter 
quarters  on  the  banks  of  the  Eapidan,  when  the  Proc 
lamation,  which  was  the  fulfillment  of  Lincoln's  threat 
of  three  month's  before,  reached  us.  Till  that  moment, 
few  of  us  believed  that  he  would  really  stand  up  to 


THE    VETEKAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  245 

his  promise.  One  of  my  messmates  read  it  aloud. 
There  was  a  moment  of  silence.  Then  one  of  them 
spoke  up  and  said  :  '  It  is  all  over  with  us  now,  boys. 
A  people  fighting  for  their  own  liberty  is  well-nigh 
invincible,  but  one  fighting  for  the  liberty  of  another, 
and  an  alien  race,  can  never  be  withstood  ! ' 

"  It  was  not  till  some  months  afterward,  however, 
that  I  fully  realized  the  truth  my  comrade  had  ex 
pressed.  You  know  what  took  me  to  the  prison  you 
have  so  fitly  denominated  a  '  pen '  at  Andersonville. 
Your  letter  had  informed  me  that  you  were  a  prisoner 
in  our  hands,  and  I  left  my  couch  of  convalescence  to 
go  there  upon  the  chance  of  finding  you.  It  was  hardly 
a  day's  ride  from  Buckhead,  and  though  there  was 
only  a  chance,  I  did  not  feel  justified  in  omitting  to 
avail  myself  of  even  a  possible  opportunity  to  exem 
plify  the  comradeship  we  had  pledged  to  each  other  on 
the  battlefield.  On  my  arrival  I  learned  that  no  offi 
cers  were  confined  there,  and  knew  my  journey  was 
in  vain.  I  declined  an  invitation,  not  very  heartily 
given,  as  I  thought,  to  go  within  the  stockade,  but 
climbed  up  to  the  sentry-walk  and  looked  over.  I  can 
not  tell  the  horror  of  that  scene.  It  was  nearly  sun 
down  of  a  hot  autumn  day.  The  wretchedness  de 
picted  in  the  faces  of  that  squalid,  unprotected 
multitude  was  unspeakable.  I  could  hear  the  soughing 
of  the  wrind  in  the  pines  beyond,  but  they  had  neither 
breath  nor  shade.  The  stench,  even  where  I  stood,  was 
sickening.  Because  I  had  been  a  prisoner  myself,  I  no 
doubt  pitied  them  the  more.  I  guessed  what  they  must 
endure,  though  I  only  dimly  imagined  the  full  horror 


246  THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

of  their  fate.  As  I  turned  away  the  notes  of  song 
arose  from  that  squalid  mass.  I  paused  and  listened  — 
listened  to  the  very  end  of  that  most  remarkable  paean 
of  self-sacrifice  that  ever  inspired  an  army  or  a  people 
to  suffer  and  achieve  for  another's  sake.  As  I  rode 
away  in  the  gloaming  that  follows  quick  upon  our 
southern  sunset,  the  words  went  with  me,  and  have 
never  left  my  memory : 

'  In  the  beauty  of  the  lilies  Christ  was  born  across  the  sea, 
With  a  glory  in  His  bosom  that  transfigures  you  and  me; 
As  He  died  to  make  men  holy,  let  us  die  to  make  men  free.' 

"  There  is  an  anthem,  Ben  Nathan,  that  swallows 
up  in  moral  grandeur  all  the  songs  of  patriotic  purport 
from  Miriam's  time  till  now.  It  marks  the  climax 
of  human  devotion.  'Perhaps  for  a  good  man 
some  would  even  dare  to  die,'  is  the  extreme  limit  of 
the  apostle's  idea  of  merely  human  self-sacrifice.  But 
out  of  that  sweltering,  fetid  prison-pen,  into  the  silent 
night,  came  the  exultant  chorus  of  thousands  who  stood 
in  the  very  presence  of  a  lingering  and  terrible  death. 
'  As  He  died  to  make  men  holy,  let  us  die  to  make  men  free ! ' 
"  They  were  soldiers  of  your  army,  confronting  the 
most  terrible  of  deaths,  rejoicing  in  their  immolation 
for  the  sake  of  humanity !  They  were  private  soldiers, 
'enlisted  men,'  according  to  the  muster  rolls,  volun 
teers  who  had  stepped  out  of  the  ranks  of  your  North 
ern  life,  for  what  ? 

'As  He  died  to  make  men  holy,  let  us  die  to  make  men  free! ' 
"  The  noxious  air  brought  to  my  ears  this  answer. 
From  that  hour  I  reverenced  the  Yankee  soldier  —  not 
for  his  superior  valor,  for  in  that  we  were  his  equal  — 


THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  24:7 

not  for  his  fortitude  and  devotion,  for  in  them  my 
comrades  could  not  be  excelled  —  but  because  of  the 
sublimity  of  self-sacrifice  which  impelled  him  to  do 
and  suffer  for  others  what  we  counted  it  heroism  to 
dare  for  ourselves!  I  have  had  more  confidence  in 
the  final  outcome  of  emancipation  because  of  this 
memory.  I  can  not  see  how  any  good  is  to  come  from 
it  yet,  but  I  can  not  think  that  the  liberty  bought  with 
the  blood  of  men  inspired  by  such  a  motive  can  result 
in  ultimate  evil  to  humanity. 

"  Do  you  wonder  that  I  sometimes  despise  a  people 
who  will  not  only  let  such  a  spirit  die  and  be  forgotten, 
but  even  stoutly  deny  that  it  ever  possessed  them? 
How  do  I  know  that  it  is  dead,  and  why  do  I  say  it  is 
forgotten  ?  Look  at  the  eulogies  pronounced  over  the 
grave  of  your  great  leader.  In  prose  and  verse  how 
many  have  spoken  in  his  memory !  Yet  his  highest 
honor  —  the  fact  that  he  was  the  chosen  instrument  for 
carrying  into  effect  the  marvelous  promise  of  a  race's 
liberation  —  has  hardly  been  thought  worthy  of  men 
tion  by  most  of  them.  How  do  I  know  it  is  forgotten  ? 
I  have  asked  every  young  lady  I  have  heard  singing 
since  I  came  among  you,  to  favor  me  with  <  The  Battle 
Hymn  of  the  Republic,'  and  only  found  one  who  had 
ever  heard  it.  You  have  not  forgotten  it,  of  course.  My 
old  charger  even  yet  pricks  up  his  ears  when  he  hears 
a  bugle  note.  But  I  think  the  staid  and  useful  animals 
who  share  his  paddock  with  him,  regard  the  old  war- 
horse  as  a  trine  crazy  at  such  times.  You  remind  me 
of  him,  now  and  then,  Ben  Nathan." 
SEI-TEMREK  4,  1885. 


JOINED  OE  PAETED. 


THE  pleasant  outing  is  ended,  Blower.  The  sum 
mer  heats  are  over  and  the  summer  birds  have 
flown.  The  last  bass  has  been  landed.  The  bright 
waters  of  the  bay  will  sparkle  no  more  for  us  except 
in  memory.  The  gentle  motion  of  the  tossing  boat  will 
come  to  us  only  in  dreams.  "No  friendly  voice  will 
break  upon  our  reverie  when  my  lips  clasp  your  amber 
mouth-piece  and  your  fragrant  breath  rises  drowsily 
about  me  after  the  day's  labors  are  over.  We  have 
parted  with  the  friend  who  was  a  foeman,  and  the 
fisher-guide  who  was  a  comrade,  in  the  long  ago. 

It  was  a  curious  parting.  Why  is  it  that  we  assume 
that  all  tender  sentiment  belongs  to  woman's  king 
dom  ?  Sadness  and  love  we  seem  to  count  inseparable 
ideas.  Tears  are  sacred  to  womanhood  and  tender 
ness  consecrate  to  passion  or  to  home.  The  world 
would  have  laughed  in  pity  or  derision  if  it  could  have 
marked  the  sadness  of  those  last  days  and  the  choking 
awkwardness  of  the  final  leave-taking.  For  a  week 
our  old  friend,  who  had  been  a  companion  in  a  past  of 
which  we  had  found  so  much  to  say,  as  well  as  guide 
and  helper  in  our  daily  expeditions,  had  exhausted  all 
his  simple  strategy  to  induce  us  to  prolong  our  pleasant 
holiday.  To  have  heard  him  picture  the  delights  of 
that  favored  region  when  island  and  main  are  clad  in 

248 


THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  249 

the  many-hued  garments  of  autumn ;  when  "  the  soft, 
serene,  September  days  "  cover  the  slumberous  waters 
with  silver  sheen ;  when  the  frosty  nights  have  gilded 
the  hickory  leaves,  painted  brown  the  oaken  back 
ground,  and  touched  with  flame  the  maple  crests ; 
when  balmy  days  and  honey-dews  have  ripened  the 
nectar-laden  clusters,  and  the  vine-leaves,  whose 
silver  sides  the  summer  breezes  delighted  to 
toss  up  to  the  sunlight  have  grown  dull  and  dark 
—  to  have  heard  him  discourse  of  these  things  in  his 
anxiety  to  defer  our  flitting,  one  would  have  thought 
the  world  had  missed  a  poet  in  this  harsh- voiced 
weather-beaten  fisherman.  When  he  found  these  efforts 
were  in  vain  he  counted  mournfully  the  days,  and 
finally  the  hours,  that  must  elapse  before  our  departure. 
To  the  last  moment  he  was  assiduous  in  his  care.  The 
fishing  rigs,  wrapped  and  packed  with  the  utmost 
nicety,  will  bring  him  to  mind  whenever  we  have  need 
for  them  again.  For  the  last  day  or  two,  he  hardly 
left  us,  even  to  sleep. 

"I  don't  know  why  it  is,"  he  said  pathetically,  as 
he  was  putting  things  in  order  for  the  journey  the 
evening  before  we  were  to  leave,  "but  I've  been  out  so 
often  with  ye,  one  a  settin'  in  the  bow  and  t'other  in 
the  starn,  a  takin'  off  a  fish  sometimes  for  one  an'  then 
again  for  t'other,  and  a  listenin'  while  ye  talked,  that  it 
don't  seem  as  if  I'd  ever  want  to  touch  an  oar  again 
after  you're  gone.  Of  course,  I  didn't  al \vays  know  so 
very  much  about  what  you  was  talkin'  of,  and  I  don't 
mind  tellin'  ye  that  I've  learned  a  sight  about  many 
and  many  things  sence  I've  been  a  rowing  you  around ; 


250  THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

but  it  don't  really  make  no  difference,  I  s'pose,  whether 
an  old  chap  like  me  learns  anything  new  or  not.  That 
is,  it  don't  make  no  special  difference  to  others,  and 
you  probably  wouldn't  know  jest  what  it  is  to  me.  In 
fact,  I  don't  know  as  I  have  exactly  learned  so  much 
after  all.  The  truth,  is  Mr.  Nathan  (he  has  always 
called  me  Mr.  Nathan  from  having  heard  Pascal  Raines 
address  me  so  frequently  as  Ben  Nathan),  that  you  and 
Mr.  Raines  seem  to  be  so  far  apart,  good  friends  as  you 
always  are,  that  one  can't  never  tell  exactly  which  one 
to  take  sides  with,  till  he's  thought  it  all  out  himself. 
That's  what  I  shall  be  doin'  all  through  the  fall  fishin', 
an'  after  the  winter  sets  in,  when  I  shan't  have  nothin' 
else  to  do  only  jest  to  tend  the  fire  and  mend  the  rigs 
for  next  year's  work.  When  Fm  alone  I  shall  always 
have  you  with  me  Mr.  Nathan  —  you  and  Mr.  Raines 
—  coz  it  don't  seem  as  if  you  was  ever  apart  —  one  in 
the  bow  and  the  other  in  the  starn,  and  I  shall  argue 
these  things  all  over  to  myself,  takin'  first  our  side, 
Mr.  Nathan,  and  then  trying  to  make  out  Mr.  Raines' 
side,  so's  to  git  as  nigh  the  right  on't  all  as  I  can. 

"  It's  kind  o1  queer,  but  I  never  had  no  such  sort  of 
feelin'  for  any  parties  I  ever  took  out  before.  It's  jest 
seemed  all  the  time  as  if  I  had  a  share  in  all  the  matters 
you  was  talkin'  about.  I  used  to  kind  of  forget 
that  I  wan't  nothing  nor  nobody  only  jest  the  ole  fish 
erman,  Rans  Whiting.  Sometimes  I  took  your  side,  and 
then  again  I'd  have  to  take  Mr.  Raines  and  then 
I'd  think  you  was  both  jest  about  right,  an  some 
times  —  not  often  I  must  allow  —  it  'ud  seem  to  me 
that  you  was  both  about  equally  in  the  wrong. 


THE   VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  251 

"  My  old  woman  says  I  been  sort  u v  dazed  like,  ever 
sence  you  come  an'  took  me  an'  my  boat  into  yer  em 
ploy  ;  an'  she  vows  she  believes  I  think  more  uv  you 
two  than  uv  her  an'  the  children.  But  I  tell  her  'taint 
that.  It's  jest  because  the  things  you've  talked  about 
have  kind  uv  lifted  me  up  an'  set  me  to  thinkin'  about 
matters  that  take  a  holt  on  a  man  that  he  can't  shake 
off  in  a  minit  —  that  is,  if  he's  worth  bein'  called  a  man. 
She  says  she  don't  mind  which  'tis,  but  she's  sorry 
you're  goin'  away,  for  she  declares  I  hain't  never  been 
so  pleasant  'round  the  house  afore  sence  we  was  young 
married  folks.  I  s'pose  the  truth  is  that  it's  been  more 
interest  in'-like  to  have  me  come  home  and  tell  over 
what  you  and  Mr.  Raines  have  been  a  'jowerin'  about, 
as  he  would  say,  than  to  jest  have  me  set  an'  smoke 
from  night-fall  till  bed-time.  An  old  fellow  like  me 
gets  kind  uv  talked  out  after  thirty  years,  you  know, 
Mr.  Nathan,  unless  he  has  something  to  fill  him  up 
now  and  then.  Besides  that,  our  wimmen  folks  out 
here  in  the  country,  have  a  pretty  dull  time.  They 
don't  see  much  of  the  world,  except  a  neighbor  now 
and  ag'in,  and  about  all  Sally  hears  from  the  outside, 
is  what  I  chance  to  bring  home  at  night,  which  ain't  a 
great  deal  the  generality  of  times. 

We  live  down  on  the  Head,  you  know,  which  might 
as  well  be  an  island  so  far  as  neighbors  is  concerned, 
and  I  expect  Sally  does  get  pretty  lonesome,  especially 
now  the  chileren  have  gone  for  themselves,  all  except 
one,  an'  she  might  as  well  be,  for  she's  off  to  school  the 
biggest  part  of  the  year-.  I  tell  ye,  Mr.  Nathan,  wimmen 
has  a  hard  time  anyway ;  that  is  the  common  run  of 


252  THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

wimmen,  that  can't  go  to  waterin'  places  and  the  like, 
but  jest  have  to  stay  at  home  an'  see  an'  do  the  same 
things  over  and  again,  day  after  day.  They  are  a  deal 
worse  off  than  men,  an'  I  don't  know  as  they  have  any 
thing  to  make  up  for  it.  Leastways,  I  never  wish  I  was 
one,  only  when  I  lose  some  of  my  tackle  by  puttin'  of  it 
in  the  wrong  pocket.  Then  I  do  sometimes  wish  I  was 
a  woman  so  that  I  wouldn't  have  but  one  pocket  to 
sarch  in,  ye  know." 

I  laughed  with  him  at  his  favorite  jest,  which  we 
had  heard  often  enough  during  the  summer.  He  tied 
the  last  knot  in  the  cord  that  bound  my  rod,  and 
filling  his  pipe  sat  down  for  a  last  smoke  with  me 
before  starting  on  his  homeward  row  across  the  bay. 
His  mind  still  ran  on  the  subject  of  which  he  had 
spoken  at  such  unusual  length,  and  he  continued  be 
tween  the  whiffs  while  he  sat  awkwardly  enough  in 
the  great  willow  rocker,  Avhich  was  Pascal  Raines' 
favorite  chair,  holding  his  weather-beaten  tarpaulin 
bottom  upward  on  his  knees  : 

"  I  want  ter  tell  ye,  Mr.  Nathan,  that  it's  done  me  a 
world  of  good  to  know  Mr.  Raines,  too.  Some  way  I 
don't  feel  quite  so  free  to  tell  him  on't  as  I  do  to  speak 
to  you.  He  ain't  exactly  one  of  our  folks,  you  know, 
or  perhaps  we  ain't  his  folks,  which  is  the  way  he  puts 
it.  I  guess  he's  purty  nigh  right  about  that  matter,  too. 
I  hate  to  think  so  jest  the  worst  kind,  for  if  I  ain't 
nothing  but  a  common  fisherman,  I  can't  help  having 
a  good  deal  of  pride  in  the  country,  and  your  talk  to 
gether,  while  we've  been  out  on  the  lake,  day  after  day, 
has  give  me  a  good  deal  of  consarn  about  it,  too.  I 


THE   VETEKAN   AND    HIS    PIPE.  253 

don't  lay  claim  to  any  great  learning,  and,  of  course, 
don't  count  much  one  way  nor  another,  but  somehow  or 
other  I  can't  help  thinking  about  such  things,  more  es 
pecially  when  I  hear  others  that  knows  more  and  thinks 
better  than  I  can,  arguin'  about  them  an'  expoundin'  of 
them. 

"  Just  atween  us  two,  Mr.  Nathan,  I  don't  think  I'm 
ever  quite  so  good  a  man  at  home  or  abroad  as  when  I 
quit  thinkin'  about  my  own  little  matters  all  the  time, 
an'  tries  to  make  up  my  own  opinion  about  things  that 
take  in  the  whole  country,  an'  them  that's  goin'  to 
make  the  country  when  we're  dead  and  gone.  It  makes 
me  feel  that  I'm  of  a  little  more  account  to  think  that 
if  I  am  nothing  but  jest  Rans  Whiting,  the  boatman, 
I've  got  a  right  an7  that  it's  my  duty,  too,  to  detarmine 
what's  right  an'  what's  wrong  —  what's  good  an'  what's 
bad  —  for  the  wrhole  county,  an'  for  every  man  in  it.  I 
sometimes  think  I  know  something  how  a  king  must 
feel,  for  if  I  hain't  got  but  one  say  in  fifty  millions, 
more  or  less,  I've  got  that,  an'  I  don't  know  but  it's 
about  as  important  in  the  long  run  that  it  should  be 
right  as  if  it  was  the  only  one  there  was. 

"There  ain't  no  dodging  the  fact  that  'tain't  safe 
for  the  country  to  have  any  of  us  git  wrong,  or  at  least 
not  try  to  git  right,  on  these  things.  And  the  more  we 
try  to  get  right  in  such  things  the  better  we  are  our 
selves.  There  ain't  no  doubt  of  that,  even  if  we  make 
a  mistake.  I  s'spose  it's  the  nateral  effect  of  forgettin' 
ourselves  and  rememberin'  others ;  or  perhaps  it  may 
be  that  thinkin'  about  great  things  kind  uv  widens  out 
even  the  narrest  sort  of  mind.  That's  the  way  'twas 


254  THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE. 

in  the  war,  I  know.  There  was  plenty  of  men,  jest 
like  me,  that  was  the  commonest  sort  of  chaps  at  home, 
that  just  as  soon  as  they  felt  that  part  of  the  weight  of 
the  country  was  restin'  on  their  shoulders,  begun  to 
straighten  up  an'  look  square  to  the  front  with  their 
teeth  set,  not  carin'  the  flip  of  a  penny  what  became 
of  them,  so  long  as  the  country  was  safe  an'  slavery 
clean  wiped  off  the  sile.  I  never  heard  nobody  git 
nigher  the  truth  about  that  sort  of  thing  than  some 
of  jest  that  sort  of  men,  that  nobody  thought  had  any 
ideas  beyond  today's  work  and  tonight's  sleep,  afore 
that  time. 

"  You  see,  Mr.  Nathan,  we  got  the  notion  that  the 
war  was  agoin'  to  set  everything  right  for  all  time,  and 
it  was  a  mighty  poor  sort  of  a  man  that  didn't  want 
to  do'his  part  of  such  a  job.  A  good  many  of  us  thought 
that  was  about  all  we  could  do,  and  we  hadn't  no  idea 
that  after  it  was  over  we'd  ever  be  called  on  to  do  any 
thing  more.  In  fact,  we  hadn't  any  idea  there  would 
ever  be  anything  more  to  do.  I  guess  that  was  our 
mistake,  but  it  was  a  nateral  one,  an'  I  must  say  I  hated 
to  give  it  up  and  own  that  'twas  a  mistake.  But  I 
guess  I'll  have  to.  I  don't  like  to  think  that  Mr.  Raines 
is  right,  but  I  can't  just  see  where  he's  wrong.  It  does 
appear  as  if  the  war  hadn't  exactly  settled  everything, 
after  all. 

"  I  don't  know  nothin'  about  these  matters  of  tariff 
an'  the  like,  an'  I  dont  quite  understand  about  the  new 
fangled  doctrine  they  call  civil  service  reform.  Some 
times  it  looks  like  a  good  thing,  an'  then  again  I  feel 
half  afraid  there's  more  in  the  meal  than  I  can  exactly 


THE   VETERAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  255 

make  out.  These  things  are  too  deep  for  me.  I  own 
up  to  that.  I  don't  understand  them  an'  never  shall. 
But  I  b'lieve  I  do  know  what's  fair  an'  right  'twixt  man 
and  man,  in  fact  as  well  as  in  name.  That's  what  I  fit 
for,  Mr.  Nathan.  I  don't  say  it  to  boast,  but  it's  a  fact. 
Now  I  can  see,  as  Mr.  Raines  says,  that  we've  forgot 
that  there's  a  difference  between  these  two  peoples 
about  what  is  right  and  what  is  freedom.  The  South 
erners  don't  look  at  it  as  we  do,  and  don't  understand 
it  as  we  do.  Come  to  think  of  it,  I  don't  see  how  they 
could.  So  far  as  these  things  go  1  can'  see  that  we  are, 
as  he  says,  two  peoples,  and  I  can't  exactly  see  how 
we're  ever  to  be  made  one.  We  may  hang  together 
like  two  families  in  one  house,  but  I  can't  see  what's  to 
bring  us  any  nigher  one  another  in  our  opinions  about 
what  I  can  see  now  was  the  real  cause  of  the  difference." 
"  You  see,  Mr.  Nathan,  they've  got  the  niggers  right 
there  with  'em  —  side'n  side,  so  to  speak.  I'm  sorry  for 
it,  I  declare  I  am.  I  hain't  got  no  ill  will  agin  the 
poor  things.  I'm  as  fur  from  that  as  anybody.  I  want 
them  to  have  all  the  rights  I've  got  or  ever  expect  to 
have,  and  be  just  as  free  to  exercise  'em,  too.  They've 
earned  it,  God  knows.  When  I  think  of  the  millions 
and  millions  of  days'  work  they've  done  for  the  coun 
try,  for  of  course  every  lick  they  struck  in  the  old 
slave  times  was  for  the  country's  advantage,  and  how 
peaceable  and  well  disposed  they've  been  when  they 
might  have  killed  and  burned  and  made  the  South  a 
wilderness,  and  no  one  could  have  blamed  'em  much  — 
I  say  when  I  think  of  these  things  I  don't  understand 
why  anyone  should  object  to  their  having  just  as  good 


256  THE   VETERAN   AND    HIS   PIPE. 

a  show  as  the  rest  of  us.  Then,  too,  there  ain't  no  git- 
tin'  out  of  it  that  they  did  help  us  amazingly  in  our 
fight  with  the  Confederacy.  Honestly,  I  don't  see  how 
we'd  ever  have  got  through  with  that  job  without  their 
help.  'Twasn't  so  much  the  fighting  they  did,  though 
that  wasn't  any  small  matter,  but  t'was  the  information 
they  gave,  the  roads  they  showed,  the  trenches  they  dug, 
and  the  lives  they  saved.  Of  course,  we  can't  have  one 
sort  of  liberty  for  the  white  man  and  another  for  the 
black.  I  fought  to  put  them  on  the  same  level,  and 
whatever  puts  any  difference  between  them  puts  a  slur 
on  them  that  stood  by  us  in  the  war. 

"  That's  the  way  /feel,  Mr.  Nathan,  and  I  think  it's 
just  as  much  agin  the  liberty  we  fought  for,  to  beat 
them  out  of  this  right  as  it  was  to  put  them  up  on  the 
block  and  sell  them.  It's  just  as  much  worth  fighting 
about,  too,  for  what  is  a  man's  right  good  for  if  he 
ain't  at  liberty  to  make  use  on't,  just  the  same  as  his 
neighbors  ?  It  ain't  no  liberty  without  that.  Besides, 
it's  hurting  me  and  enslaving  me,  so  to  speak,  right 
here  at  home.  Suppose  all  them  five  or  six  millions 
are  shut  out  from  the  polls,  or  scared  out,  or  counted 
out.  What  is  the  consequence  ?  Then  every  Southern 
white  man's  A7ote  is  made  just  so  much  more  powerful 
than  mine.  In  that  case  I  may  do  my  share  of  the 
government  just  right,  and  my  boy,  that's  just  turned 
of  twenty-one  t'other  day,  he  may  do  his  part  in  the 
same  way,  and  one  white  man  down  in  South  Carolina 
may  just  step  up  and  kill  both  our  votes.  That  aint  fair, 
leaving  the  niggers  all  out  of  the  question.  I'm  will 
ing  to  give  the  men  that  were  rebels  just  as  good 


THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  257 

a  show  as  I  have,  not  flinging  their  mistake  up  to 
them,  either.  But  I  aint  willing  to  give  every  white 
man  at  the  South  two  or  three  times  as  much  power  as 
I  have.  I  may  not  do  very  much  toward  governing 
the  country,  but  I  don't  want  any  man  prevented  from 
doin'  jest  as  much  as  I  have  a  right  to  do ;  and  I  don't 
want  any  man  to  have  a  chance  to  do  any  more.  That's 
how  I  feel. 

"At  the  same  time,  I  wish  there  were  no  niggers 
there.  I  know  they  ain't  to  blame  for  bein'  black, 
but  I  certainly  do  wish  they  were  not.  I  wish  they 
was  all  white  —  that's  what  I  wish.  Then  it  wouldn't 
take  but  a  little  while  to  rub  off  the  mark  of  bondage. 
I  begin  to  see,  as  Mr.  Raines  showed  us,  that  after  all 
the  saving  of  the  Union  wasn't  the  biggest  share  of  our 
work.  But  I  would  be  willing  to  give  up  my  share  in 
glory  of  that  struggle  if  we  could  only  get  over  this 
difficulty.  We  freed  the  slave,  but  we  only  half  en 
franchised  the  freedman.  "We  gave  him  the  ballot,  but 
we  failed  to  give  him  a  place  to  put  it  where  it  would 
do  him  any  good  or  have  any  effect  on  the  government 
of  the  country.  I  s'pose  it's  natural  that  the  southern 
man  should  think  it  not  much  harm,  or  perhaps  not 
any  at  all,  to  take  away  the  negro's  right  in  order 
to  secure  his  own  dominion.  I  wouldn't  mind  that 
if  he  was  likely  to  change  his  notions.  One  can't 
be  expected  to  fit  himself  to  new  things  all  at  once, 
but  as  far  as  I  can  see  there  ain't  no  prospect  of  its  being 
any  different.  I  used  to  think  it  only  needed  a  little 
time,  but  twenty  years  don't  seem  to  have  made  them 
any  more  willing  to  admit  the  colored  man's  right  than 
17 


258  THE    VETERAN    AM)    IT1S    P1PK. 

they  were  at  first.  I  don't  see  what  we  are  go-in'  to  do 
about  it,  and  yet  I  know  that  if  something  isn't  done, 
there's  bound  to  be  a  deal  of  trouble  over  it  sooner  or 
later.  What  do  you  suppose  will  come  out  of  it  all, 
Mr.  Nathan." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  will  come  of  it,  Ransom,"  said 
Pascal  Raines,  who  had  come  sauntering  along  the 
hall  and  into  my  room,  the  door  of  which  was  open,  in 
time  to  hear  the  closing  remarks  of  our  old  friend. 
Perhaps  he  had  heard  more,  for  Ran's  tones  were  not 
such  as  walls  or  distance  could  smother.  "  I  will  tell 
you  what  will  come  of  it,"  he  repeated,  as  he  came  and 
laid  his  hand  upon  the  shoulder  of  the  old  man,  "  either 
the  Republic  must  find  a  remedy  for  this  debasement 
of  the  freeman's  right  or  the  Republic  must  die  in  order 
that  the  freeman  may  achieve  his  right." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  not  —  I  hope  not  so  bad  as  that,  Mr, 
Raines,"  said  the  old  man  as  he  rose,  and  taking  his 
red  bandanna  from  the  crown  of  his  tarpaulin,  wiped 
the .  sweat-drops  from  his  troubled  face.  "You  don't 
think  that  ?"  he  asked  appealingly. 

"  It  was  such  men  as  you,  Mr.  Whiting,"  answered 
Raines,  "  who  taught  the  world  that  the  right,  even  of 
the  slave,  was  of  more  importance  than  a  Nation's 
peace.  Why  should  not  the  freeman's  prerogative  be 
of  more  importance  than  a  nation's  existence  ?" 

"I  —  don't  —  know,"  answered  the  old  man,  while 
the  troubled  look  grew  deeper  on  his  scarred  and 
rugged  face. 

Then  he  took  his  leave,  his  lip  quivering  and  his 
voice  softening  as  he  bade  us  good-bye.  We  watched 


THE   VETEKAN   AND   HIS   PIPE.  259 

him  from  the  window  as  he  rowed  across  the  moon-lit 
bay  toward  his  home  upon  the  Head.  When  the  flash 
of  his  oars  could  no  longer  be  seen,  Pascal  Raines 
turned  away  and  said  in  a  more  cheerful  tone  than  it 
had  been  his  wont  to  use  of  late : 

"  You  and  I  may  speculate,  Ben  Nathan,  with  very 
little  result,  but  when  such  men  as  he  begin  to  think, 
there  is  hope  that  something  will  be  done.  It  is  the 
peculiarity  of  our  system,  perhaps  I  might  almost  say 
the  distinctive  feature  of  our  civilization,  that  the  in 
stinct  of  the  masses  is  truer  than  the  wisdom  of  the  states 
man.  It  is  only  when  the  people  cease  to  recognize  the 
fact  that  the  responsibility  for  good  government  rests 
with  them,  that  danger  threatens  the  Republic.  I  do 
not  see  how  the  great  problem  is  to  be  solved,  but  it  is 
perhaps  well  that  the  freedman's  right  is  so  closely 
linked  with  the  liberator's  privilege.  The  Northern 
patriot  could  no  doubt  summon  fortitude  to  endure  the 
sight  of  the  colored  man's  misfortunes  for  a  long  time, 
were  it  not  that  his  own  individual  right  to  rule  is 
thereby  perceptibly  abated  and  depreciated.  You 
know  it  was  really  the  fear  of  slavery's  aggressions  that 
stirred  up  this  wonderful  Northern  conscience  of  yours 
to  effect  its  eradication.  When  once  aroused  it  was  a 
flame  of  fire  —  I  grant  you  that  —  but  who  can  tell 
how  long  the  slave,  might  have  languished  in  bondage 
without  interference  or  even  plausible  hope,  had  not  the 
fear  taken  possession  of  men's  minds  that  some  time  or 
other  the  rights  of  Northern  freemen  might  be  en 
dangered  by  its  existence. 

"  Free  Kansas "  was  called  a  crusade  against  slav- 


260  THE   VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

ery.  It  was  more  properly  a  movement  to  protect 
free  labor.  If  we  had  been  content  to  remain  as  we 
were,  and  had  not  tried  to  compel  the  North  to  uphold 
and  protect  the  institution,  I  am  of  the  notion,  Ben 
Nathan,  that  the  zeal  of  your  Northern  abolitionists 
would  have  ended  in  a  war  of  angry  words  alone.  So, 
too,  if  the  South,  to-day,  would  voluntarily  relinquish 
the  power  which  it  wields  by  virtue  of  the  suppressed 
negro  vote,  there  is  no  doubt  but  the  North  would  will 
ingly  consent  to  their  disfranchi  semen t,  and  the  prob 
lem  of  the  negro's  future  would  be  left  in  our  hands. 
I  cannot  help  thinking  that,  all  things  considered,  this 
would  be  the  better  course  for  all,  but  I  know  it  will  not 
be  adopted.  We  will  not  give  up  the  power  that  has  been 
given  into  our  hands  by  a  curious  accident,  and  some 
time  or  other  you  will  grow  restive  under  the  undue  ad 
vantage  thus  given  to  the  South.  What  the  outcome 
will  be  no  man  can  tell.  It  is  quite  within  the  range 
of  possibility  that  the  Union,  which  was  restored  in 
order  that  the  colored  man  might  receive  his  liberty, 
should  be  again  imperilled  in  order  that  he  may  obtain 
its  full  fruition." 

SEPTEMBER  11,  1885. 


AUTUMN  REYEEIES. 


We  are  back  at  the  old  homestead  on  the  hillside, 
Blower.  Here  our  summer  wanderings  began,  and  here 
they  must  end.  We  came  when  flower  and  leaf  and 
twittering  songster  told  the  story  of  new  life  or  sang  the 
ever  welcome  song  of  love.  The  woefulness  of  the  past 
faded  out  of  our  memory  beneath  these  sunny  influences 
and  the  freshness  of  youth's  heyday  came  to  us  once 
more.  It  is  the  dreams  of  youth  after  all.  Blower, 
that  give  manhood  strength  to  battle  wTith  adversity. 
They  are  the  true  elixir  of  life,  by  which  the  over 
wearied  soul  is  made  strong  for  new  duties.  Some  one 
has  said  that  "  genius  is  that  power  which  carries  the 
attributes  of  youth  into  the  domain  of  age."  Yet  we 
are  wont  to  sneer  at  youth's  credulity  and  inexperience 
^to  laugh  at  the  simple  pleasures  that  delight,  and 
mock  at  the  half-imagined  woes  that  veil  with  shadows 
life's  young  day.  Our  riper  wisdom  jeers  at  sentiment, 
and  boasts  of  its  fancied  power  to  see  things  as  they 
really  are.  Yet  it  is  sentiment  that  rules  the  world 
and  impels  men  to  worthy  achievement.  It  may  be 
the  instrument  of  evil,  but  whether  its  results  are  good 
or  bad  it  is  a  weapon  of  celestial  temper.  It  does  the 
world's  work  in  spite  of  selfishness  and  greed. 

Now  and  then  a  Yirginius  rouses  a  nation  to  over 
throw  a  tyrant  by  the  story  of  his  own  wrongs,  but  it 

261 


262  THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

is  rarely  the  man  who  is  oppressed  that  inspires  revolt 
and  heads  resistance.  Some  Moses  from  the  desert  of 
Horeb  comes  to  the  Egypt,  where  men  suffer  wrong, 
inspired  with  holy  zeal  for  their  deliverance;  some 
John  Brown  dies  to  show  the  slave  how  freemen  value 
liberty.  It  is  the  sentiment  of  justice  and  humanity, 
stirred  to  life  by  the  story  of  another 's  wrongs,  that 
wakens  always  the  highest  manhood  and  accomplishes 
the  most  glorious  results.  Sometimes  we  call  it  chiv 
alry  ;  sometimes  we  name  it  patriotism ;  but  when  there 
seems  to  be  no  special  need  for  self-sacrifice  and  devo 
tion  we  laugh  at  the  power  that  redeemed,  and  call  it 
-folly! 

Even  in  our  land,  where  the  climacteric  miracle  of 
the  ages  has  so  recently  been  wrought,  it  has  been  cus 
tomary  of  late  to  sneer  at  sentiment  in  politics  and 
statesmanship.  Our  wise  men  tell  us  that  the  politi 
cians'  art  is  purely  monetary ;  that  he  alone  is  worthy 
to  be  termed  a  statesman  who  devotes  himself  to  ques 
tions  of  demand  and  supply  —  to  whose  mind  human 
right  is  bounded  by  public  credit.  The  Midas  touch  is 
preferred  to  the  patriot's  pride,  and  dollars  and  cents 
eclipse  all  questions  of  right  and  wrong.  Economy, 
we  are  told,  is  better  than  glory,  and  national  shame  is 
accounted  easy  to  endure  when  wounded  pride  is  poul 
ticed  with  perceptible  profit.  It  was  a  hard  thing  for 
England  to  lose  that  chivalric  soldier  who  perished  in 
Khartoum,  abandoned  and  betrayed  by  those  whom  he 
served.  Sentiment  would  have  dictated  his  relief  at 
any  cost  and  under  all  circumstances.  But  a  wise  and 
prudent  statesmanship  decreed  it  to  be  better  that  he 


THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  263 

should  perish  and  the  honor  of  Britain  be  forever  tar 
nished  by  his  betrayal,  than  that  the  tax  on  beer  should 
.be  increased  ! 

Nevertheless,  sentiment  is  not  dead,  and  the  base 
and  sordid  leprosy  that  boasts  the  name  of  practicality, 
however  deep  it  may  have  eaten  into  our  life,  has  not 
yet  destroyed  its  core.  There  is  still  something  more 
potent  than  greed  —  more  important  than  economy. 
As  Eansom  Whiting  said,  "it  is  a  good  thing  for  a  man 
to  think  of  something  beyond  his  own  little  matters  of 
daily  need."  Thrift  is  well  enough  in  its  way,  but  the 
patriot  heart  should  direct  the  tradesman's  skill.  Polit 
ical  economy  is  but  an  incident  of  national  life  —  the 
means  by  which  great  national  ends  are  to  be  achieved. 
Sentiment  perceives  these  ends,  and  is  inspired  to  labor 
and  endure  for  their  achievement.  The  folly  that  calls 
itself  practicality  never  looks  beyond  the  means.  Sen 
timent  inspired  the  soldiers  who  fought  for  the  libera 
tion  of  the  slave.  The  practical  statesmen  of  that  day 
have  not  yet  ceased  to  mourn  because  the  country  could 
not  be  preserved  without  emancipation.  The  sentiment- 
tal  view  of  the  situation  was  that  it  was  better  the  na 
tion  should  be  blotted  out,  than  that  slavery  should  be 
perpetuated !  The  practical  view  of  the  matter  was, 
that  the  nation  should  seek  only  to  reconquer  its  terri 
tory,  restore  its  sovereignty,  and  collect  its  revenues ! 
Now  that  we  look  back  upon  it  we  can  see  that  Pascal 
Kaines  was  right  in  declaring  that  liberty  was  the 
great  object  for  which  the  Federal  soldier  fought  —  the 
liberty  of  another  —  and  that  the  preservation  of  the 
national  domain  and  the  national  unity  was  but  an  in- 


264:  THE   VETERAN   AND    HIS    PIPE. 

cident  —  a  means  by  which  the  liberty  for  which  we 
fought  may  be  perfected  and  perpetuated. 

One  phase  of  the  great  work  which  our  nationality  was* 
designed  to  accomplish  is  at  an  end.  One  cycle  of  human 
right  is  complete.  Has  the  end  of  effort  and  of  aspira 
tion  come  ?  Has  the  task  assigned  to  us  by  that  divine 
allotment  which  we  call  destiny,  been  fully  performed  ? 
Ah,  me,  old  friend,  I  fear  it  is  but  half  begun. 

When  we  came  here  in  the  early  summer,  Blower, 
it  was  to  loiter  under  the  blossoming  trees  and  dream 
of  a  dead  past  and  a  dead  love.  Every  footstep  stirred 
the  mold  of  tender  memories.  Every  breath  was  redo 
lent  with  the  fragrance  of  by-gone  days.  It  was  a  past 
that  wooed  me  backward.  Blower.  Its  pleasures  hid 
the  duties  of  the  present,  and  made  the  morrow  seem 
only  a  dreary  waste  of  hopeless  woe.  There  was  a 
strange  fascination  in  recalling  those  long-past  hours 
of  bliss,  under  the  fragrant  canopy,  with  the  sunlight 
struggling  through  its  meshes  —  with  birds  and  bees 
above  and  about  me,  and  the  soft,  springing  turf  be 
neath.  Even  the  evidences  of  decay  that  were  around 
consoled  my  loneliness.  There  was  a  bitter  sweetness 
in  the  fact  that  the  soft  grassy  mound  in  the  little 
church-yard  beyond  the  skirt  of  soughing  pines,  with 
only  "Alice"  on  the  snowy  marble,  was  mine  —  the 
tomb  in  which  love  and  hope  and  aspiration  all  lay 
buried.  Since  it  was  rounded  up,  the  world  had  been 
to  me  only  an  empty  shell,  holding  no  honor  that  I  de 
sired,  no  duty  that  I  regarded  as  incumbent  upon  me 
to  perform. 


THE    VETEKAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  265 

I  mourned  for  remembered  joys  as  if  I  had  been 
wronged  by  their  departure.  The  magnitude  of  my 
loss  induced  a  sort  of  self-pity  which  fitted  the  balmy 
season,  and  suited  well  my  weary  mood.  Perhaps  I 
have  been  too  much  a  dreamer,  for  while  no  one  could  fill 
the  void  left  in  my  heart,  it  seems  now  as  if  I  had 
wronged  the  gentle  dead  by  growing  no  better  and 
worthier  —  by  gathering  no  harvest  of  good  and  noble 
deeds  with  which  to  greet  her  expectant  spirit  when 
we  meet  on  the  hither  shore  of  the  great  unknown, 
where  she  is  waiting  for  me. 

It  is  all  changed  now,  Blower.  The  trees  are  bent 
low  with  a  great  burden  of  ripening  fruit.  Even  the 
half  decayed  trunk  I  likened  to  myself  has  its  few  re 
maining  branches  bowed  so  that  their  tips  touch  the 
earth,  with  dull  green  apples,  dashed  with  red  upon  the 
sunny  side,  that  give  promise  of  rich  flavor  when  the 
snow  lies  deep  about  the  withered  stock.  The  clover 
heads  are  dry  and  dun,  though  the  aftermath  is  spring 
ing  fresh  and  green.  The  hedgerow  by  the  old  wall  is 
aglow  with  golden-rod,  and  dogwood  and  sumach  make 
its  crest  a  line  of  flame.  Here  and  there,  upon  the  dis 
tant  hills,  a  soft-maple  begins  to  show  its  gorgeous 
autum  tints,  while  now  and  then  an  early  ripening 
hickory  seems  to  cleave  the  emerald  mass  from  turf  to 
the  horizon  with  a  shaft  of  golden  light.  The  bees  are 
droning  lazily  about  the  ripening  fruit,  and  Arachnis 
watches  lazily  the  nets  she  has  set  during  the  summer, 
half  heedless  of  the  prey  which  they  ensnare.  Every 
thing  bespeaks  ripeness  and  fruitage.  The  harvest 
waits  only  to  be  gathered.  The  results  of  toil  and  care 


266  THE   VETEKAN   AND   HIS   PIPE. 

and  patient  waiting  are  ready  for  the  year's  ingather 
ing.  Is  the  husbandman  heedless  of  his  opportunity  ? 
"Will  he  leave  the  harvest  to  be  wasted  by  frost  and 
storm  ?  His  voice  comes  to  us  on  the  brisk  autumn 
breeze  in  answer,  as  he  cheers  the  patient  beasts  Avho 
draw  the  loaded  wagons  toward  the  open  doors  of  the 
great  barn  upon  the  hillside.  He  would  be  a  foolish 
man  indeed  who  would  turn  away  and  leave  the  out 
come  of  his  care  and  toil  to  molder  back  to  dust 
ungathered  and  unused.  It  is  only  nations  that  thus 
squander  the  fruits  of  mighty  labors  and  spurn  the 
harvest  watered  with  the  blood  of  heroes  ! 

My  memories  are  not  of  tender  dalliance  in  the 
orchard  now,  old  friend.  The  little  grave  in  the  quiet 
churchyard,  covered  with  evergreen  periwinkle,  through 
the  clustering  leaves  of  which  the  calm  blue  eyes  —  a 
second  flowering  which  the  favored  autumn  sometimes 
brings  —  look  trustfully  up  into  the  clear  blue  sky, 
draws  me  irresistibly  to  its  side.  I  lean  upon  the  white 
headstone ;  I  recline  upon  the  verdant  mound  and 
dream  of  her  who  lies  beneath,  not  as  one  lost,  but  as 
one  found  —  a  living,  ever-loving  presence.  The  story 
which  so  long  has  been  too  sad  for  memory  to  dwell 
upon,  comes  back  to  me  now  without  one  thought  of 
pain.  A  thousand  times  sweeter  than  that  memory  of 
young  love's  first  sweet  whispered  words  breathed  in 
my  ear,  beneath  the  blossoming  orchard's  fragrant 
canopy,  is  now  the  recollection  of  that  winter  deathbed 

scene. 

•x- 
*  •* 

It  is  a  simple  story,  Blower,  meaningless  no  doubt 


THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE.  267 

to  stranger  hearts.  For  more  than  a  score  of  years  it 
has  been  to  me  a  woeful  memory  —  a  sad,  inexplicable 
mystery.  By  some  strange  alchemy  the  autumn  scenes 
have  transformed  it  all  at  once  into  a  blissful  vision. 
The  years  have  dragged  slowly  and  wearily  since  that 
time.  I  have  not  been  a  sluggard,  Blower;  that  you 
can  testify.  But  I  have  yearned  always  for  the  end. 
I  have  longed  to  go  to  my  beloved,  to  lie  down  beside 
her  in  the  pleasant  country  church-yard,  and  wake  to 
new  life  with  her  in  the  sweet  fields  of  Elysium.  And 
always  I  have  dreamed  of  those  blissful  days  in  the 
fragrant  orchard  bower,  with  the  soft  spring  turf  be 
neath  us  and  the  half  translucent  billows  of  white  and 
green  above,  as  the  archetype  of  the  hereafter.  I  have 
pictured  it  as  an  endless  offering  of  rapturous  tender 
ness  which  awaited  my  coming,  never  once  thinking 
what  return  I  might  make  for  the  love  which  all  this 
time  has  been  ripening  in  the  sunshine  of  the  better 
land.  The  harvest  scenes  and  ripe  autumnal  beauty 
have  taught  me  better.  I  see  now  that  life's  sunset 
brought  a  truer  knowledge  of  life's  duties  and  responsi 
bilities  to  her  eyes,  dimmed  though  they  were  by  the 
fast  coming  night. 

I  can  never  forget  it,  Blower,  though  until  this 
moment  I  have  been  unable  to  speak  of  it  even  to  you. 
She  was  my  comrade's  only  sister  —  Joe's  other  self. 
We  had  not  seen  each  other  since  I  brought  the  story 
of  her  loss  with  the  news  of  our  victory.  The  disabled 
but  victorious  veteran  won  a  more  glorious  victory 
while  he  waited  for  his  wounds  to  heal  than  he  had 
ever  shared  upon  the  field  of  battle.  There  were  a  few 


268  THE    VETERAN    AND    HIS    PIPE. 

short  months  of  paradise.  Then  came  the  shock  of 
battle  again  and  with  it  wounds,  disease,  and  the  long, 
silent  night  of  captivity.  My  lot  was  hard.  I  did  not 
bear  it  unmurmuringly,  but  what  would  it  have  been 
if  I  had  known  her  suffering?  In  all  those  weary 
months  it  did  not  once  occur  to  me  that  she  would  think 
me  dead.  My  comrades  knew  of  my  wound  and  I  did 
not  doubt  that  she  had  heard  of  my  capture.  I  wrrote 
but  once  —  I  had  no  other  opportunity  —  but  was  not 
that  enough  ? 

"Ah  me !  she  had  been  in  the  grave  a  year  when 
that  poor  missive  came  to  her  address.  What  had 
been  its  wanderings  or  where  it  went  astray  no  man 
knoweth.  After  our  lines  fell  back  a  fire  had  broken 
out  in  the.  forest  where  we  fought  and  she  was  told 
that  I  had  perished  in  the  flames.  The  sickening  story 
was  told  to  her  with  terrible  particularity  by  one  who 
only  sought  to  offer  consolation.  It  was  enough. 
The  strain  of  this  great  horror  was  too  much  for  the 
slender  thread  of  her  sweet  life. 

The  snow  was  heaped  against  the  clattering  panes 
when  my  captivity  ended.  I  stood  again,  the  shadow 
of  my  former  self,  within  the  walls  of  the  old  home 
stead,  by  the  bedside  of  my  dying  love.  The  winter 
sun  was  sinking  in  the  west,  where  the  soft  clouds 
shone  warm  and  bright  as  with  the  radiance  of  an  im 
mortal  day.  She  knew  me  —  smiled  —  pressed  my 
hand  weakly  and  whispered : 

"Now  I  can  die,  since  I  know  you  live — to  do  a 
man's  work  —  in  the  world  and  — for  the  world ! " 

It  seemed  cruel  that  she  should  thus  abjure  me  to 


THE   VETEKAN   AND    HIS   PIPE.  269 

live  when  I  so  longed  to  die  with  her.  Why  should  I 
work  in  the"  world  or  for  the  world  ?  What  had  the 
world  for  me  to  do  or  win  after  she  had  left  its  con 
fines? 

* 
•x-  # 

I  see  it  all  now,  Blower.  She  would  have  me  gather 
a  harvest  of  good  works  —  manly  deeds  worthy  of  the 
hero  of  her  dreams  —  that  I  may  bring  the  record 
of  a  life  inspired  by  an  undying  love,  when  I  came  to 
mate  with  her  in  the  peaceful  clime  forever.  Have  I 
obeyed  her  injunction,  Blower?  I  have  lived  and 
wrought.  My  hair  has  grown  silvery  with  time  and 
woe.  I  have  lived  in  the  past  and  mourned  unceasingly 
for  the  love  it  mockingly  offered  to  my  lips.  While 
time  has  swept  by  without  a  moment's  pause,  has  the 
harvest  wasted  or  merely  ripened  ?  Is  there  yet  time 
to  gather  the  sheaves  of  Yesterday  into  the  garner  for 
To-morrow's  sustenance  and  delectation  ? 

I  ask  the  question  reverently,  Blower,  wondering 
whether  any  great  work  for  humanity  lies  at  the  thres 
hold  of  To-day. 

SEPTEMBER  18,  1885, 


THE   EKD. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 
LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


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